Forgotten Things
by Salome Weil
Summary: The war is over and Draco and Hermione's relationship is firmly in the past. But what will awaken when tragedy strikes once more at the heart of all they hold dear? H/Hr/D, AU. Major character death. M for later adult content. Sequel to 'Ethics.'
1. A Continuation

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_It is hard to tell of happiness.  
Time goes by and we feel safe too soon.  
-One Stab: Legends of the Fall_

* * *

In the heart of the ministry, deep in the bowels of subterranean London, an argument was taking place. 

"We know exactly what it is! Percy, we have to do something now!"

"These disturbances are nothing. I refuse to wake the Minister because some wizards got drunk and had a few hallucinations! Now get back to work- we have an early shift tomorrow and I'd like to get some sleep tonight."

The other redhead stood back from his brother's desk, stifling barely controlled anger. He sighed, frustrated with the pigheadedness of the man before him. Honestly, how he'd ever gotten through five years of school without killing him…he ran a hand through his well trimmed hair and counted to ten. Obviously, convincing Percy to take action would require subtlety.

After a prolonged silence, he spoke again. "Well…perhaps I have been a bit hasty-," his brother eyed him with smug approval, "but to be honest, I'd feel better if you'd at least let me call a meeting between my department and Malfoy's."

Percy's gaze faltered and he focused on his paperwork once more. "Fine," he said shortly. "If it's the only way I can get you out of here."

"Thanks, Percy, you won't regret it. I promise!" His brother scowled after him as he left the office.

"Just one meeting, George- and don't you dare bring up the wards! I refuse to deal with any panics you create! George?"

Percy's voice fell on an empty hallway. His brother was gone, apparated already- probably home, where he could floo Malfoy first thing. Home…he groaned and walked back to his desk. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said he had mounds of paperwork. Groaning again, he sat down to finish up so he could follow George 's lead. Perhaps his mother had even left some dinner on the stove for him this time.

* * *

To look at, Draco Malfoy hadn't changed an awful lot in the last ten years. He was still tall and slim, with pale blond hair- almost white- and grey eyes that had lightened considerably. His wife liked to call them silver, but it was a vanity he never acknowledged. He still held himself with an air of belonging and arrogance that lingered about him like fumes on a waste truck. He still smirked when he didn't know what to say; he still talked down his nose to people; and he most definitely still preferred his own company to that of anyone else on the planet, save one. 

His insides, however, were another matter entirely. There existed scars on his psyche that he had long ago given up hope of ever mending; he now sighed with relief whenever someone else took it upon themselves to speak first; he didn't need to have the last word in a discussion; and he lived for kind words from strangers. He'd learned to live with the existence of muggleborns in the wizarding world- not simply tolerate, but actually live with them and their muggle contraptions, too. He no longer believed in blood telling, except perhaps in that purity of bloodline just led to problems anymore.

Most of all, though, Draco Malfoy had learned how to do _without. _

For ten years- longer, really- he'd gotten by without a word, a glance, a motion. He'd drifted along the outskirts of life, always _doing _and never _being_. Studying to take his mind off things (her), working to keep himself busy (and not thinking about her). He'd even joined an amateur Quidditch league once the war was over, hoping that all the physical exertion would let him finally sleep peacefully through the night.

The war…it had taken a lot away from him. It had taken his respect, his honor. It had claimed the lives of countless of his friends. It had kept him from being with her. It wasn't just her that mattered. He knew as well as anyone that she was not the only reason he had problems. That he was _mental. _

He'd gotten married at twenty- perhaps too young for some, but he'd wanted to. Oh, how he'd wanted to. And then a baby three years later. A little boy. The heir to his fortune. The apple of his eye. The only thing that took his mind off of _everything_. Well, for a while, at least, because they didn't even know if he had magic! Two pureblooded parents and their little boy hadn't shown one sign of magic in nearly six years. It was too much to bear, at times. He knew, somehow, that if only she had let him, if only he could have been with her instead, this wouldn't have happened to him. And if she wasn't going to be with him, then could she at least stop plaguing him? Couldn't he just get over her and move on?

But a pair of pleading eyes wouldn't let him be. And he didn't even have her to confront, to ask to please leave him alone because he'd done everything he could that night to save them! Hadn't he?

He rolled over in his sleep

Then there was the other pair of eyes- so terrifying, so frightening. As if one man could eat him alive, make him be the coward she'd always known him to be. The bad person. The one on the losing side. For all his scars and time in counseling, for all his trials and confessionals, she wouldn't leave him. In a way, he didn't want her to. In a way, he knew he deserved to suffer and be reminded.

No, the war had not been kind to Draco Malfoy. Ten years had not been kind. And Hermione Granger had not been kind.

Then again, neither had he.

He slept on, fitfully.

* * *

Somewhere on the other side of London, Hermione slept peacefully next to her husband. If the years had not been kind to Draco Malfoy, they had only helped Hermione to blossom. Her hair was still a bright brown- the chestnut highlights shone more brilliantly now. Her curls were perfectly manageable, her teeth were straight, her eyesight sharp. Though she had not gained height, she had gained enough weight for the pallor from sunless days in libraries and dark corners of the earth to be replaced with rosy cheeks and charming curves. 

She and Harry had survived the war in a blur of victory that would only be remembered in photo albums stacked upon dusty shelves. They were albums the Potters never looked at; not because they were not proud of their accomplishments or were unhappy with the events past…but simply because they _were _events past. Perhaps someday, when their children were old enough, they would draw the dusty tomes from their spots on the shelves to reminisce and teach life lessons. Lessons that had come very hard and at a high price.

For, while Hermione had survived and flourished, it was not done without any heartache. There had been deaths, as she'd anticipated- although not the ones she'd expected- and there had been suffering. Oh, there had been suffering.

She whimpered softly in her sleep and the arms of her husband circled her instinctively, cradling her to his warmth. Keeping her safe. He had kept her safe through it all. In betrayal and torture and even torment at the hands of an old, would-be lover, he had seen her through. It was a comfort to her.

Now she had everything she had wished for, hoped for. Her life, the life of her husband, a happy, healthy child with him. A career in the ministry, saving lives, writing laws. Conserving the world she loved so dearly with efficiency and competency. She was loved by all who knew her; she was adored. She was not only ultimately happy, despite the grief she felt from the loss of friends and family so many years ago, she was _content_.

It was a place she had long dreamed of and struggled toward, this contentment.It was well deserved.

She sighed and snuggled down into her husband's arms. The dawn was far off for now and the hours of sleep she took were as kind to her as the years had been. Her conscience, if it had ever been marred, was clear now. Old loves had been replaced with new…old desires replaced with joy.

She slumbered on.

* * *

A loud pop sounded close to Draco's ear and he sat up quickly, dragging the covers with him. Pansy rolled over in her sleep and grumbled. He looked down first at the house elf beside him who was watching him with great, big, shining eyes. He blinked and rubbed his own eyes. 

"Who?" he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep.

"It is a Master Weasley, Sir."

Draco blinked again and looked over at Pansy, who was flailing one arm about, trying to snatch the covers back. He smirked and slipped from the bed before reaching back over to tuck them up under her chin. She smiled in her sleep, her snub nose wrinkling up with pleasure. He turned back to the elf.

"In my study?" At the confirming nod from the elf, Draco marched down the hall and into the other room. A face peered out at him from the fireplace.

"May I?" it asked. Draco waved his hand and the face turned into a full figure. Ah. It was the _other _Weasley. Or was that the other _other _Weasley? He shook his head, still fuzzy minded from waking up. He gestured at a chair, which George took with great alacrity, and then sat down across from him.

"What's the emergency?"

George's face grew grim. "No niceties?"

Draco smiled wryly. "I have nothing to offer you but my services. So what is it?"

"Well, if you must know. It's the wards, Malfoy."

Draco sat up a little straighter. "And you aren't supposed to be telling me that, are you?" He paused as the redhead nodded. "You told your brother?"

"Of course. How do you think he reacted?"

"Well, he let you come and talk to me at all, so that's a sign he's not a complete idiot."

George nodded again. "True. I want to set up a meeting between our departments. We're not supposed to talk about the real reason behind it with anyone."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Well, anyone _else_," he amended. "But I plan on sharing with my number one, so please feel free to follow suit."

"You trust _Granger_?" Draco couldn't help it, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "She's a notorious worrier!"

"She gets the job done, Malfoy. Can you say the same of Smith?"

Draco felt himself bristle and beat the feeling away. After all, George had passed over his mistake- honestly, when was he going to stop calling her by her maiden name? She'd been married six years already. Ah well, George was understanding enough. Anyone who left him his dignity these days was a friend. Besides which, he and George had found themselves working together on more than one tough project over the last two years, which was how long he'd been Head of Muggle Relations. He needed to stay on the man's good side.

Draco's department handled basically _anything _that was muggle related. That meant crime, crime…more crime and the occasional mishap, or, Disasters We At The Ministry Didn't Want To Take The Fall For. It was a fairly new department, being only seven years old, and one which he'd helped to create. It was actually _suggested _that he help, the implication being that his misdemeanors of the past might be forgotten if he took the job. It was a department where many reformed death eaters, purists, and cowards of the war had been placed. They worked in close contact with Magical Law Enforcement most of the time; Draco knew it was to keep everyone on their best behavior. Still, their other major partner had turned out to be the good folk at Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

George had risen to power in that department fairly quick. Everyone at the Ministry pretended it was because of how extremely competent he was. In reality, it was because his background with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes made him most, ah,_ knowledgeable_. Draco contemplated the other man for a moment. George hadn't faired well during the war. He'd survived, true, but he bore at least as many emotional scars as the next man. Draco knew a little of the story. Fred had almost been killed- been in the hospital for weeks- and George had sworn to be a better wizard if he survived. So the day Fred woke up, he'd given up his position (though not his stocks) in the business and applied to the Ministry for a job.

He blinked again and snapped his fingers. The same elf who'd woken him appeared with a tray of mugs and a coffeepot.

"What's this? I thought you couldn't offer me anything. You've been holding out!"

"Shut up and drink, Weasley." Draco poured and the other man accepted. "And leave my men out of it for now. They're as good as any others and Merlin knows the Ministry gives us nothing to work with."

George waved a hand vaguely. "Enough. The Ministry itself doesn't have enough to work with if my brother is any indication. Now, let's talk about this and then we can get some shut eye before our big, disastrous debut in the boardroom."

"Fine," Draco replied.

Out the window, the first grey shades of dawn began to light the horizon. Draco called for more coffee. _Weasley_, he thought, _is and always has been overly optimistic_.

* * *

A morning owl swooped in on the third floor flat and scratched frenetically at a window. Harry smiled and lifted the sash to let in the creature who was damp with dew. She hooted solemnly, dropped the missive on the breakfast table, and took the sausage Harry proffered. Then she swept back out into the chilly morning. Harry glanced at the name on the paper. It was for Hermione- probably work. 

He leaned back in his seat and looked back out the window, enjoying the breeze as it wafted in. He was always warm when he rose in the mornings- whether it was from sleeping next to another person all night or because Hermione always kept the thermostat turned way up, he wasn't sure. His wife had funny habits. She hated to be cold, but loved the winter. She made a mess when cooking, but was perfectly poised during a meal. It was like being married to two different people. He smiled again and finished up his tea before rising to go wash. A small noise caught his ear and he peered in the master bedroom.

Hermione was stirring. She rolled over and smiled sleepily at him.

"You had an owl from the office."

She frowned. "Already? I'm not even up yet!"

Harry grinned. "And why not? I've been up for an hour already."

She snorted and rolled back over. "Oh, go take a shower, you goody-goody morning person."

She heard the bathroom door close and the water start, then threw back the sheets and rolled herself from the bed. Pathetic. Hermione didn't know exactly when she'd stopped being a morning person, but she suspected it had something to do with her late nights. Ever since she'd taken the job at the Ministry it seemed like there was always _something_. Really, she would have thought that ten years after the war was over the fallout would have trickled off. No. Of course, people were just as stupid as ever. But at least this time things got taken care of in a timely fashion. Paperwork was always proper and action was always prompt. Actually, now that she thought about it, most of her late nights were her own fault. She sighed and padded out to the kitchen to have her morning cuppa. Maybe she needed to just take some time for herself. Starting now.

Ah, good. Harry had left plenty of tea for her. She was just taking her first sip when she spied the handwriting on the envelope. _George_. She should've known. Sighing, she decided to give herself fifteen more minutes of peace before opening the damned thing.

She heard the water turn off and a door opened a moment later. Harry wandered back out to the kitchen a few minutes later, hair damp, a few beads of water still clinging to his bare chest. He was wearing his dress pants, but held a shirt in either hand and was holding them up for inspection. Hermione giggled at him over the rim of her tea cup.

"Come on, Hermione, I have to appear in court today."

She waggled her eyebrows at him and put down the cup.

"Hermione…," he tried to sound very stern.

"You know," she replied thoughtfully, "I think I saw another shirt in your closet that suits your eyes."

"Yeah?"

She walked past him and back into the bedroom. He followed her unsuspectingly, only to be pounced on the moment he opened the closet door. Ten minutes later he sat back up from the bed and grinned, holding up the previously discarded shirts.

"Really, now. Which one?"

Hermione covered her face and moaned. "For Merlin's sake, Harry. You'll be wearing your Auror robes anyhow. Does it really matter?" Then she reached up and pulled him back to the bed rather determinedly.

Another five minutes later there was a timid knock on their door post.

"Mummy?"

Harry dissolved into laughter and stood up quickly as his wife's face flushed that bright pink he was so fond of. Hermione sat up herself and turned about, pulling her bath robe closed tightly. Her eyes took in the bleary face of her four year old; black curls tumbling down over her face in an inevitable rat's next. She smiled softly at the girl.

"Yes, Viola?"

"Mummy, there's something at my window."

Hermione cast a sidelong glance at Harry who was innocently knotting a tie. She rose and padded across the hall to her daughter's room. Another owl was scratching at the window. She had Viola stand back and flung the window wide, snatching at the letter. The owl hooted, annoyed, and flew off. After closing the window, she stood and looked down at the letter. Another message from the office. _Looks like I picked the wrong morning to take some time off_, she thought.

"Mummy?"

Hermione smiled and knelt down, hugging the small girl, then picked her up and swung her around her hip. The girl squealed with laughter.

"Mummy needs to take a shower. Want to get clean for school with me?" The girl blinked her bright green eyes up at her and nodded happily. _Well, at least someone doesn't care if I'm late. _Narrowing her eyes at the letter she still held in her other hand, she tossed it onto the unmade bed and waltzed into the bathroom with her little girl. Harry smiled affectionately at them both before heading for the front door.

"Don't forget about dinner with the Longbottoms tonight!" Hermione called after him. He waved a hand and she heard the door close and then, a second later, lock. She smiled down at the mess of curls below her and turned on the water. Then, keeping the squirming bundle as still as possible, she reached for a hairbrush.

"Now, I know you hate this part, but please stay still, darling."

Moments later, howls filtered out of the bathroom. Hermione thanked Merlin for silencing charms and decided that once she was done getting Viola ready she would send a reply to George. Better not to keep him waiting _too _long, especially if the issue was important enough to warrant two owls.


	2. Preparations and Vagaries

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowli**ng.

* * *

_I seldom think about my limitations, and they never make me sad.  
Perhaps there is just a touch of yearning at times; but it is vague, like a breeze among flowers.  
-Helen Keller_

* * *

Draco paced at the front of the conference room. Every time the door opened, he looked up once, quickly, and looked back down to the floor. He continued to pace.

"Malfoy, please stop that. You're making my people nervous."

He cast a scowl at George. "This isn't my fault, Weasley. We should have started fifteen minutes ago. It's your meeting, after all. Why aren't you more upset?"

"Because I trust Hermione. She'll show up- I told you, I asked her to run a special errand this morning. She's probably on her way as we speak." The redhead stared at him calmly and Draco went back to his pacing with a derisive snort. If he'd looked closer, the nervous twitching of exactly one of George's thumbs might have tipped him off that the other man was lying. Fortunately for George, Draco was mightily distracted.

Whatever George said, it wasn't entirely untrue. He _did _trust Hermione to pull through and he knew perfectly well that she would probably come bursting in with coffee and a box of some kind of breakfast bread- or fruit- to make up for it. She wasn't late often, but he understood, unlike some men, that having a child often put more strain on the wife than the husband. Little Viola was what- four, now? And probably a little tartar like her father had been. Although, he reminisced, she was always perfectly sweet to her Uncle George. In fact, she was generally well behaved. He decided he was being unfair to Harry. Most of the trouble Harry had gotten into as a boy had occurred because, well, it was his bleeding destiny. Trouble couldn't really be helped when that was the case.

He looked back to his fellow department Head and frowned lightly.

"Malfoy, if you don't stop pacing, I will personally tie you up."

The other man flashed him a wicked grin. "I'd like to see you try," he said glibly, but sat down anyway. Smith came up to him and handed him some papers. They spoke softly for some minutes and George wished desperately that Hermione would come bursting in. If anyone made him nervous, it was Malfoy. He'd worked with the man more than once, of course, and they always made a good job of it; but he had to admit that it was unseemly for the man to so easily take over any situation. True, he didn't make biting remarks or start unnecessary arguments anymore; he really was most professional about his work and almost everyone who didn't hate his guts- and even some who did- thought he was generally, if not a _pleasure_ to work with, competent and efficient. Not unlike his own second in command, Hermione Potter.

Thinking of her name made him pause and review his conversation with Malfoy the past night- dawn. Whatever. The man had mistakenly called her Granger. It amused him, to a certain degree. It was perfectly natural, he presumed, that it would be difficult to remember to call someone one had known as one name for so long by her married name, but it still niggled in his mind. Wasn't Hermione always barging into his own office, complaining about Malfoy? He knew the fellow called her that to her face: he got an earful about Malfoy's mistakes every time she came back from some delivery or meeting with him. Not that he didn't return the favor every time Smith came to visit him. Ugh, the man simply creeped him out. Then again, cowards generally did. And whatever horrid things Malfoy had done in the war, turning into a regular Benedict Arnold midway through the war was not cowardly. Stupid, perhaps, but not cowardly.

He was about to try the motherhood explanation to soften Malfoy up a bit when Hermione came walking in the door, a box of fruits hovering in before her and several coffees balanced in her still tiny hands. He stifled a laugh and stood up to retrieve some of the packages. A bag of what could only be breakfast breads floated in after her and she kicked the door shut before depositing the remaining packages on a side table. George cast a surreptitious glance backwards at Malfoy, who was still deep in conversation with Smith. He sidled up to Hermione.

"Trouble getting out of the house this morning?" he murmured out of the side of his mouth as he helped hand out donuts and plates to various people from both departments.

Hermione smiled weakly at him. "I'm so sorry, George. Has he been at your throat awfully?" she asked, with a toss of her head in Malfoy's direction. She really didn't want to be discussing him this early in the morning, but she knew there was no way around it. Honestly, why the ministry ever thought it would be a good idea to hire him…

Logically, Hermione knew that he needed a job as well. She knew that he had turned coat during the war and provided valuable information for their side. The winning side. She knew that he had, in spite of the one terrible night she had spent in his manor, that he had, for all intents and purposes, _changed. _Inexorably, finally. He had grown up and matured into the man she had always wished for him to become. He had also forgotten about her. She'd always known he would…she just hadn't expected him to take a job at the ministry so he could torment her with his presence. Not that it was torture or anything; she didn't have to see him every day. Some weeks passed where she never saw him, aside from the occasional passing in the Ministry cafeteria.

She liked to think she was happy for him, honestly. After all, she had her own life now. A husband, a child, a career. She was content. _Well_ content. If only he'd stop watching her with those cold grey eyes then maybe she'd be more than content, but for now she had to manage as best she could. Hermione was perfectly aware that he didn't know she saw him watching her. Sometimes she wasn't even sure _he _knew how much he stared. She'd first noticed it during her engagement to Harry.

* * *

Draco had only started work at the Ministry two years after she'd started work in her department; her assumption was that he'd been living off his family money for a while, until he needed a job, or, at the least, something to keep him busy. She'd been a little disgruntled to see him working there, but had managed to keep her mouth shut. After all, didn't everyone deserve a chance for rehabilitation? At any rate, she wouldn't have even realized Draco had started working at the Ministry if Harry hadn't mentioned it on a date one evening. He'd casually let drop that, "Malfoy got turned down for Auror today," and she had carefully controlled herself in response. Harry had never mentioned Draco to her, not once, after that time at his manor. Not even when Draco had joined their side and begun feeding them information had he brought him up. Hermione had known who the new source was, but Harry had gallantly been the only one of them to deal with him, to control himself, to take the brunt of Malfoy's dying bitterness against their side, against the choice he'd been forced to make.

Hermione never asked Harry about Draco and he never gave any information. She assumed Draco probably had to explain himself somehow, but she'd never know the story. The point was that he'd finally changed. Without her, the way she'd hoped. Except it was too late for them. She smirked a little at herself. What a ridiculous thought. It had been too late for them the moment they'd been born. At any rate, it wasn't until Harry brought him up that she realized they'd never spoken of him. For some reason it hadn't seemed so unusual. She'd asked him a question about it and Harry had explained the Draco had applied for the training school, but the Ministry didn't feel comfortable offering the job to a former death eater. This revelation had been followed by the second surprise she'd received on that date.

"I recommended him for a position in the new Muggle department they're forming instead."

She hadn't said anything to that, had just sat there in shock, gaping like a fish. Harry ahd smiled a little at her then and spread his hands out wide.

"They need new workers desperately and for as much as everyone now claims to have such _love _for muggles, they certainly have a hard time stomaching the idea of working in a department that concerns itself with them. I know you're terribly fond of your position, Hermione, but honestly…the bigotry that continues is worse than before in some ways. It's quieter now- there's a kind of reluctant charity at work and it's not very nice." He'd paused and quieted down a bit. "Malfoy seems repentant enough. It will be good for previous purists to work in a department like that. Keep them in line and realistic about the world. After all, we may have magic, but there are more muggles than wizards in the world- and they've invented some rather nasty weapons of their own. We only hurt ourselves by keeping ourselves locked away and operating under deceit and shadows."

It was the most Harry had said on the same subject in a long time and Hermione had sat back, contemplating it. She remembered very well some of the scares from the nineteen eighties…things like nuclear reactors blowing up and new developments in bio-warfare. Things that the wizarding community, for all its supposed greatness, had no protection against. Magic only went so far.

She had eyed him a bit more before pouring some more wine out.

"You know, Harry," she'd said in a grateful rush, "I think you're really quite wonderful."

He'd looked up at her in surprise and then blushed. Her sudden affirmation of her feelings for him had brought about her third surprise of the evening then- Harry had put his hand down in a pocket, fiddling with something, then pulled it back out quickly and set a little box on the table between them.

Hermione had only looked at it when she burst into tears. She'd reached for a napkin and blown her nose and begun laughing and crying at the same, hysterical time.

"Yes-!" she mumbled through the napkin over and over. Harry had stared at her in consternation.

"You haven't even opened it! I haven't asked anything yet!"

In response, she had only laughed more and pulled him across the table by the front of his robes to plant a solid kiss on his lips. The other people in the small café had clapped in an embarrassed manner.

* * *

Reflecting back on the evening now, she knew it wasn't what either of them had planned or expected. They had dated in school, sure, but after Dumbledore had been killed at the end of sixth year they had agreed that other things needed to be taken care of. After all, searching for Horcruxes was hard to do when you wanted to shag your partner constantly. They had only dated a semester, but it had been a nice semester. There had been no unruly demands (except over Malfoy), no fighting (except over Malfoy), and she had generally had a grand time with Harry. To be honest, she had been a bit hurt when he'd asked to call things off 'just until the war is over.' She'd known things wouldn't last that long. Feelings never did.

But then he'd been there after the war was over and they fell into their old ways- joking, lecturing, spending time together. It wasn't until she received an earful from Neville about Harry sitting on his couch in the middle of the night, bemoaning that Hermione didn't love him anymore, and would she _please _come to her senses because he had a _wife _to get back to, honestly!- that she realized what was going on. And so things had gone on- not quite back to normal, because they never could, but almost like the old days. There were some things that war could not change about them.

So they'd gotten engaged and that was when Hermione began to notice Draco more often. He watched her, but it was about all he did, aside from calling her 'Granger' and being insufferably _cold _to her every time she was forced to go to his office. At first she'd wondered if he still harbored a grudge from all those years ago in school, but the idea was preposterous. She had to give him some credit, though. He never spoke to her unless he had to and never crossed her path unless the other side of the hall was full. Then she'd gotten married and the surveillance had stopped for a while. It didn't frighten her, per se, but it did bother her somewhat, so when he'd stopped she'd been pleased more than anything else. Certainly not disappointed. After all, she'd read in the paper that he'd gotten married two years ago and reportedly already had a bouncing baby boy. She struggled now to remember the name…ah well, it didn't matter. He was married and so was she. That was all that mattered.

Until he'd begun watching her again.

It had been a little unnerving the first time he'd done it; now it was just creepy. He'd started up again when she'd gotten pregnant (so Ginny told her) and the looks had grown increasingly perplexed. It wasn't until she'd seen a look of pure consternation on his face as he sat across from her at a meeting that she'd decided to do something about it. She'd written him a note and left it for him on his desk. A bit cowardly, she knew, but she really had no desire to speak to him ever again if she could help it.

The watching had stopped, she'd thought. Or perhaps it was just that she'd gotten so wrapped up in her life that she'd stopped caring or noticing.

At any rate, she noticed it again now. He was glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as he spoke with Smith. It was not a very kind look. She furrowed her brow and turned away to finish looking over her notes. George had satiated everyone in the room with food and drink and was standing quietly at the front of the room waiting for people to finish taking their seats.

She hurried over to him and took a seat beside him. Malfoy turned and took the seat on the other side of him and Smith sat one down from that. Though she could tell he was still watching her, she ignored him and stared straight ahead.

George looked down to the right and left of him and sighed. Honestly, was he going to have to keep peace again? They were so much alike- such bright and hard workers, but really. It was infuriating, the way Malfoy made cow eyes at a married woman who went about acting like a hurt puppy all the time. He resolved to speak to them both. After the meeting. Clearing his throat, he began.

"Welcome to our last minute meeting this morning- I trust you all got your owls?" A nod circled the table and he smiled. "Good. I'm afraid we have some mundane business to take care of today and in the following weeks…," he looked about the table at the tired faces and grimaced inwardly. Oh, how he hated Percy then for making him take a soft line with the issue. Still, it was better than a panic, or, worse, ignorance. He chided himself silently and then turned to the board behind him and began hanging up the pictures and reports.

* * *

**To _mofo_: Thanks! I love you, too. ;) I have some exciting things planned for this story, so be prepared. :)**

**To _Deanna_: Thank you! He is rather adorable, isn't he? **


	3. Work Begins

-1_**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**_

* * *

_Twelve hours of work and I still can't sleep.  
Damn.  
Days go on and on.  
They don't end.  
-Travis Bickle: Taxi Driver_

* * *

George spoke as he tacked up the papers. Using a simple spell, he projected the images onto a screen at the back of the room as he addressed the room.

"To begin with, each case taken individually is really just your average- in as much as any crime is _average_- assault or substance abuse charge. Disturbing the peace, battery- these are what characterize the following crimes. Most of them are what we would call misdemeanors. However," he continued, leaving the board to turn around and point to the projection screen, "more recently there has been an increase in violence and deaths associated with these cases." He flipped through a few rather graphic photos. "Let me run through a few of the details and then we can get down to business."

Hermione squirmed a bit in her seat. Draco had stopped watching her and was now staring intently at the screen, one hand drawn up over his mouth, as if he was deep in thought. He nodded occasionally and jotted a few notes. She looked down at her own page, which was already full of perfectly legible writing. Absolute inches. She took another quick glance at Draco, who was still staring straight ahead of himself. His brow was furrowed in concentration; his pen wasn't moving. She cast her attention back to the case George was describing. If Draco's note taking habits had changed, it was really no business of hers. Besides, although everyone took their own notes in some form or fashion, the secretary of each department always sent minutes about afterwards.

The case George was talking about had taken place two years ago. Hermione remembered it well; it had involved an accidental splinching of an entire dance club of wizards. The fallout had been rather disgusting, really. Their department had investigated and been unable to find any evidence of foul play; however, they had discovered that the club was a popular hotspot for drug sales in the wizarding community. The natural conclusions had followed: mass hysteria and apparating under the influence of narcotics had resulted in the mass splinchings in one place. The thing that had been swept under the rug in this case, as something was _always _swept under the rug, was that less a quarter of the people at the club tested positive for drugs. Hermione liked to think that if she had been in charge, nothing would have been swept away, but she knew better. George had battled with Percy over that detail over and over and Percy had somehow wrangled it that the paperwork was buried under months of backlogs. Additionally, every person they had interviewed had insisted that they'd never attempted to apparate. To apparate in a crowd like that would have been suicide, they all said.

It was true. But all they'd found was limbs and facial features, although not all of them had been reattachable, That had been another unusual detail of the case. If one included the fact that some random muggles, ones who bore no signs of the club's stamp or having been anywhere near a dance club that evening, had also been splinched that evening, well. It made the case a strange one at that. A strange case that the higher ups had insisted they deal with quickly.

This time as George reviewed the case, however, he paid careful attention to each of the previously missing details. She spared a quick glance at the rest of the table; some bore looks of surprise on their faces while others only nodded in a confirmatory manner. She flushed lightly, glad for the darkness of the room. Perhaps if she'd read the owls through carefully she would have been more up to speed with where George was going with all this. Honestly, though…with Harry's odd hours and her own workaholism, she was afraid to waste the precious waking hours she did get with her daughter.

Determined to get herself up to speed and sort out George's intentions, she paid extra close attention to the remaining cases he covered.

The next five were easily grouped with the first case, though they were to a lesser degree of importance. Small things to the suits in the ministry; things like a wizarding family accidentally getting splinched into a muggle subway or other apparations gone wrong. Very average, as George had said. But they did add up.

These cases were followed by reports of muggles and wizards alike seeing strange things- almost like shadows of other people and glimpses of other buildings- in odd places like the tube, restaurants, parks- one particularly esteemed Peer even reported a sighting during the middle of a session of Parliament. The muggles' Parliament. Again, as George so thoughtfully pointed out, these sightings were dismissed by the ministry as being the result of a rise in drug use amongst the wizarding world. However, the current statistics all pointed to something else, considering that only two percent of all wizards currently showed any rate of drug use at all, and less than point zero five percent of that drug use took place in England.

"Of course," George added drolly, "these are only ministry conducted studies and polls. We mustn't take them as the gospel truth."

On the other side of Draco, Smith let out a soft laugh and Hermione frowned, looking over at him. Draco noticed her movement and smirked at her.

"Care to defend our illustrious ministry, Gr- _Potter_?" he asked lightly, the smirk playing across his lips in a ripple of amusement, covering up his mistake.

Hermione restrained the urge to roll her eyes at him. It wasn't so much Draco that annoyed her as the entire situation. She felt sometimes as though she'd been fighting tooth and nail ever since the war had ended to save her precious ministry; to save the system that she knew would work and work _well,_ if only they could end the bureaucracy that still existed. It was situations like the one they were facing now that made her tired, made her angry; and in spite of some days wishing she could just go home and be a house wife, she knew these cases were the ones that made her job important. She cared, even after all this time, she _cared _about each and every case that came across her desk. The only thing that made any of it better was knowing that there were other people- like George and even _Draco_- who cared as much as she did. Still, they all needed to work together if they ever wanted to get anywhere and she never hesitated to point that out. The system would not work unless it was supported- and reformed- by them all.

"I just think it's important to remember that the ministry will not work at its best unless all its members are pulling their weight," she said calmly.

"What Hermione is trying to say," George intervened smoothly, "is that unless we do _our _jobs to investigate these cases fully, how can we blame the ministry for letting details be forgotten?" He moved on to the next set of slides. "For instance, in this case of the beating of an innocent muggle family just five months ago, the aurors did their work before turning it over to Mr. Malfoy's department. Unfortunately, because the aurors felt pressure from above to move on to another, more pressing case, not all of the information collected reached the Muggle Relations department. That's when we were called in to help determine the motive. Then, because information was missed all along the line of investigation, we never came to any workable conclusions. Where will this case end up in another seven months if nothing is done?"

Hooper raised a hand to a wave of laughter.

"Yes, Hooper," George said.

"Well, Mr. Weasley-," the young man began, only to be interrupted.

"Call me Professor, if you please," George said with a perfectly straight face, to which another wave of laughter passed. Hermione hid a small smile. While George had given up his control in the family business, he hadn't lost his sense of humor completely.

The young man paused, a look of confusion upon his face. George's own face broke into an easy smile and he waved his hand.

"Never mind, Hooper. Now, what's the answer?"

The other man answered promptly, his confusion lingering in a suspicious glance. "Cold case."

"That's right. And Malfoy, can you tell us how many cold cases currently reside in the stacks of unfinished filing at Muggle Relations?"

Draco's face grew even grimmer in the dim light- if that was possible- and he answered stiffly, "Uncounted."

"Right," George confirmed. "The number of unsolved cases concerning muggles here at the ministry is currently innumerable. With Malfoy's help, I intend to change that. I called this meeting so we could start work on this pile-," he gestured to the board behind them, "of abandoned cases. As I said before, individually they are simple crimes, simple accidents. The motives behind them could be anything from petty theft to drug use."

George began walking about the conference table, warming to his theme. It wasn't until Malfoy prodded him with his wand a few minutes later that George stopped and flushed. "Right, well. Sorry to go on. Basically, Malfoy and I believe these crimes are connected somehow. Find the connection, find the motive, solve the problem."

Hooper raised his hand again. George ignored it. This time, Draco stood up and addressed the gathered company. His stiff and grim air from a moment before disintegrated as he spoke before them. This time, he was quietly pleading with both teams for cooperation and full employment of their facilities to address the problem.

"As George said, we currently don't know exactly what it is that connects these things, but-," he was suddenly cut off by a voice from the doorway.

"But you have some idea, surely?"

Draco turned around with a jerk, a snarl working its way across his face. He struggled with himself and his mouth smoothed itself into a flat line. Hermione looked up at the man standing in the doorway and frowned. Percy, of course. The other redhead gestured at his brother and Draco and said, "May I speak to the both of you for a moment?"

George turned and looked at Hermione briefly before following Draco past his brother. The door closed behind them and Smith calmly stood and flicked the lights on. He cast a glance at Hermione and raised an eyebrow. The other members of the departments sat looking at one another and speaking in hushed tones. Sighing, Hermione stood and joined Smith.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

He looked at her with genuine surprise. "Surely Weasley told you," he replied, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Hermione glared at him and was about to reply when the door opened once more and George and Draco walked back inside. Everyone looked to them expectantly.

Draco looked about the room uncomfortably. Obviously George wasn't going to be speaking anymore, based on the scowl he wore. After a pause, Draco continued from where he'd left off.

"The bottom line here is that we have a ridiculous number of muggle related incidents involving wizarding accidents. The most recent case we had, two weeks ago, was a sixty automobile pile up on the South Loop."

"But muggles have horrible accidents in mechanical contraptions all the time!" protested another young assistant.

Draco shook his head. "Not where all five survivors said they saw a line of traffic appear directly in front of them, causing them to jam on their brakes…causing the crash."

"What, like vehicles were heading for them in the wrong lane?"

"That's right."

"But how do we know it wasn't just the other line of traffic?" The young woman was being persistent.

Hermione didn't bother to hide the rolling of her eyes this time. She had been the personnel from her department assigned to help Draco handle this particular case; that meant she'd seen all the photos, even visited the aftermath once. She knew that stretch of road very well by now.

"There's no way it could have been," she said quietly, with confidence, though her voice held no triumph.

Draco looked at her, the corners of his mouth twitching a bit. She looked away. So did he.

"That's right," he confirmed, "it was something else entirely because on that roadway, the lanes are separated- it's a system of bridges."

The others looked down at their pads. After a moment of silent contemplation, a dozen pens began scribbling widely and in the next five minutes, people were tossing ideas back and forth about possible connections and motives.

George stood back from the scene, a palpable gloom about him. Draco looked over at him and turned back to the table.

"There's just one other thing, people," he called. They grew quiet for a moment. "This information does not leave this room. What we're working on is rather…controversial. We keep it to ourselves." Everyone nodded and he smiled softly. "Good. You're dismissed. Thanks for your time this morning." As they filtered from the room, he said, "Remember, every spare moment you have- this is our top priority!"

George made a strangled noise and Draco shrugged at him.

"What did you expect me to say? His warnings were directed at his brother, not purist scum like myself."

George fairly exploded. "They were directed as much at you as anything else! I can't believe that man- my own brother! He gave me bloody permission for this meeting, you know! Augh!"

With that, he threw his hands in the air and stalked out the door. Hermione stood gaping after him. Smith made a small coughing noise and Draco smirked.

"Better run after and make sure your boss doesn't kill _his _boss," he murmured, and left the room with Smith in tow. Hermione almost stamped her foot at him as he left and, thinking better of it, gathered the remaining breakfast things from the room. It seemed she should've read those owls a little more closely. She hurried out the door after George, determined to get the whole story. She groaned, knowing that these new developments would probably mean her admonishment to Harry about remembering their dinner plans had been in vain. If anyone was going to miss the meal, it would be herself, if she knew George.

* * *

She was right.

Twelve hours later, she staggered up the front steps of the Longbottoms' town home and was about to lift a weary hand to knock on the door when it was opened. A pretty woman who held a baby on one hip glared down at her.

"Hermione Potter! How dare you treat me like a babysitting service! I picked Viola up after my practice ended over eight hours ago!"

Another face appeared behind the woman and smiled widely. "Hermione! Please come in. Ignore Ginny, she's just worried, that's all."

Hermione smiled gratefully at Neville as she stepped inside past a festering Ginny. Then she frowned.

"Where's Harry?" Understanding swept across her face. "Is that why you're worried? He's not here?"

Ginny nodded and turned away towards the kitchen. "Viola is sleeping upstairs with Ronald." She tilted her head towards the child in her arms. "_This_ one wouldn't go down yet."

"Because you're keeping her up with your worries, love," Neville said calmly, and lifted the tiny girl from his wife's arms. "I'll put her to bed."

He went up the stairs, humming softly to his daughter. Hermione turned back to Ginny as she poured out tea.

"Well, has he tried flooing? Calling?"

Ginny shook her head and sat down at the island. "He owled at about five to tell us he'd be late, but…" her voice trailed off.

Hermione smiled in spite of the lump in her stomach. "Honestly, Ginny. You shouldn't worry so much. Heaven knows I worry enough for the both of us."

"But doesn't it bother you more? You're married to him!"

Hermione sighed and put down her teacup. She stared at the steaming liquid. "I used to worry more. But we've been married a few years by now…and I'm late often enough to know that work is just hard sometimes. To be honest, I feel like we put more of a strain on your marriage than our own," she said apologetically.

Ginny shook her head again and refilled her cup. "Don't feel bad, Hermione. You know Neville and I are more than happy to help out. I guess I just feel for you. I never mind keeping Viola…it's so nice to have her around."

Hermione was about to respond when the front door opened.

"Harry!" she heard Neville exclaim. Hermione was up from her seat like a shot and dashed around the doorway of the kitchen and into Harry's arms. She heard laughter behind her.

"Not worried, huh?"

"Shut up, Ginny," she muttered, her face buried in the folds of Harry's overcoat. He held her close for another moment more and then pulled away, planting a small kiss on the top of her head. He turned to hang up his coat and robe.

He spoke to them over his shoulder. "I'm so sorry I'm late, Hermione- Ginny," he turned around to face them. "We don't have to stay very long; I'm sure you two are tired." He smiled.

"Oh, please, Harry," Ginny frowned. "We have so much food it's ridiculous, considering that one member of our family doesn't even have teeth yet."

"What, didn't you get here in time, Hermione?" Harry turned to look at his wife, concerned.

"She just got here a few minutes ago, herself," Neville explained. Then, as he saw Harry frown and start to ask a question, he took his friend by the shoulder. "Come on, let me pour you a drink. Then you can have a bite to eat before you head off."

Harry looked back at Hermione, frowning, as Neville ushered him to the study. Ginny placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder and gestured towards the kitchen.

"Let's finish that tea. The food has been in the warmer drawer for a while now, so it doesn't need reheating. We can talk for a bit."

Hermione smiled at the redhead and followed her. Harry and Neville joined them at the island soon after. Dinner was quiet, interrupted only by tired questions and old answers. Harry was never able to talk about his work and now Hermione couldn't, either, so conversation was limited to Ginny's quidditch team and Neville's writing. The concern Harry felt over her working so late was adding extra tension as well, so in all it was not the relaxing dinner party either couple had expected.

Not that any of them had grown apart over the intervening years. Indeed, it was Ginny who took Ron's place on the hunt for the Horcruxes when Ron died; and Neville had been one of the leading officers in the war. Yet there was not the joyful gathering of friends between them there had once been. They had all simply…grown up. They had different needs, different focuses.

Now when they saw one another, it was with a quiet enjoyment in exchanging life's pleasantries. _How are the kids? What is work like? Have you seen the paper? _The only question they never asked was, _do you remember? _There was no room in their lives to remember years that only brought them painful feelings. Those times were best forgotten. Although things within the wizarding world had changed a great deal since the war, there were some things which were still best left forgotten.

However, despite their long and complicated relationships, they still loved one another and to each other, they were family.

So when the evening drew to a close and Hermione discovered Viola fast asleep in her playmate's room, Ginny insisted they leave the girl to sleep.

"Neville will make sure she gets off to her school in the morning," she said. "Leave her be- I told you, it's not a problem. Besides," she continued, eyeing her friend, "judging from the silence between you and Harry at the dinner table, you two could use some alone time to talk."

"More like sleep," Hermione protested, stifling a yawn. But she let Ginny convince her to leave her daughter and after saying good night to her, she and Harry flooed home.

* * *

The argument began once they were inside.

"Didn't you get my message at the ministry?"

"No, Harry, I've been at work and in meetings all day. We just got a very important case-."

"Someone should have been there to see Vi before she went to bed; you know I don't like her spending the night."

"Oh, not this conversation _again_. Gods, Harry, what do you want me to do, shackle myself to the flat?"

Harry frowned and crossed his arms. A guilty look swept over his face. "That's not what I meant. And we haven't _ever _had this conversation. I don't even know what conversation you think this _is."_

Hermione sighed and dropped into a chair. "Look, Harry, I know you worry about Viola being out of the apartment because you have parenting issues. I'm not going to talk about it again. I _understand _perfectly. But honestly, this is the first time in a long while I've been at work for fourteen hours. Whereas _you_…" her voice trailed off and she frowned as well.

"I know, Hermione. I know. I'm sorry I'm not here more often. I feel bad enough about how much time my job takes as it is- but it's important-."

"I never said it wasn't. But my job is important too. So is my daughter and so are you. Look, it doesn't happen often that we're both late this way." She paused and Harry nodded.

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just that this blasted case-! It's going to take up so much time over the next month, at least…I really wanted us to have a nice evening with Vi and our friends tonight…" he looked away and then perched on the edge of the armchair Hermione was in. He rested an arm about her shoulders.

"Mine too," Hermione echoed.

Harry laughed ruefully. "Maybe now would be a good time for Vi to visit her grandparents," he said. "You know Molly and Arthur are dying to have her."

"And Mum and Dad as well," she replied, smiling sadly. "But how will she get to school?"

"Well, she can floo with Molly most mornings- and doesn't she have a holiday coming up as well? We can send her to your parents then."

"Harry," Hermione said gratefully, "you think of everything."

He grinned down at her. "Do I, now?"

She smirked up at him. "Well…maybe not _everything_."

With a determined tug, she pulled him over into her lap.

Now he grinned up at her. "This can't be comfortable for you," he murmured.

"I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much," she replied, sniffing slightly. He tried to protest one last time before she silenced him _most _effectively.

* * *

**To _mofo_: No, it isn't that obvious; yeah, she and Harry will discuss her day to a certain extent in the next chapter. There will be an explanation, of sorts. :) **


	4. Moonlight for a While

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**Author's Note: Warning! This chapter is my first lemon- I did a pretty good job of avoiding details, but for those of you with pure souls, you may want to skip to the next chapter (when it's up). **

**Also, some of you have successfully guessed what's going to happen. To those of you brilliant enough to have followed all the hints and foreshadowing of the prequel, brava! Oh, and since this story is labeled a tragedy, I think you know who you are. **

**For those of you who keep bugging me about it, it is D/Hr, just not yet. (This part of the story is called the development! Oh, and there will be NO threesomes.)**

**One more thing: I apologize for making you all wait so long for this next chapter. I'm trying to stay on top of it, honestly, but my work is piling up already. So if you get one chapter a week, I'll be doing good. Sorry!**

* * *

_I suppose things are better now, but...I don't know.  
People still hate each other, they just know how to hide it better.  
-Seymour: Ghost World_

* * *

An hour later it was well past midnight and they still lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling, limbs entangled. Harry had moved them to their bedroom and the covers were a mess on the floor. It was always like that after they'd fought and made up and moved on.

Harry rolled over on his side and propped himself up on one elbow, leaning over her, his other hand idly exploring her curves. She almost smiled up at him lazily, but stopped when she saw the serious expression on his face. An uneasy feeling passed over her and settled in the pit of her stomach. She frowned a little. It seemed that an awful lot of feelings had been settling in that particular location lately, and she didn't like it.

Harry started to say something, stopped, and the corners of his mouth quirked into a half smile. The he lowered his head and captured her lips beneath his once more. It was a different sort of kiss than before; Hermione knew it well. It was slow and lingering, and sped its way down to her toes, sending her body into a flush. He only kissed her that way rarely- tugging on her lips, spreading her mouth open with his tongue, reaching a hand up to gently caress her face and neck. And then…sending heat curling deep down inside of her as he urged her to respond with a more commanding pull on her mouth; a more demanding hand wrapping itself into her hair; tilting her head back, giving him access to the soft skin of her throat.

The heat intensified for one glorious moment and then she couldn't lie still any longer; her own hands came up and slid into his messy locks; pulling, tugging, asking for more as he positively _claimed _her. Without any further prodding she gladly leaned into him; wound her hands down from his head to his shoulders- his back; leading him over her. _Into _her.

Just like that, he was there. She didn't need him to say it; she didn't want him to. Her legs opened and he was between them and inside her and so hot, so warm…he propped himself on his elbows on either side of her small shoulders and pulled back, removing his lips from the skin of her neck in order to look at her.

She eyed him from beneath heavy lids. She knew what he was thinking, she could almost hear him after all this time. _Is she okay? Am I hurting her? Merlin…_he moved a little…_she's too good for me._

She lay still while waiting for him: her breathing light, her skin hot and flush with the desire he never failed to ignite between them. Although she'd certainly worried more than once whether they were too good of friends to be good lovers, Harry put her thoughts to shame. She'd experienced it all with him: the highs and lows; but he was only ever gentle in one instance. It was an instance she both loved and dreaded, so she always tried to draw him out as long as possible.

So now, with him looking down at her with such intensity of emotion in his eyes, his body a part of hers, their blood pounding through their veins at the same chaotic, passionate pace- she waited, still and quiet. Hardly daring to _breath_. His eyes were a dark green in the dim light of the moon that streamed through their window and sweat rose in a shining line across his forehead.

It always puzzled her just a little when he did this; he stared at her as if it were the last time he'd ever see her; as if he was looking for some kind of affirmation of who he was…what he'd done…as if her love for him told him the kind of man he was.

His mouth quirked into another half smile and he lowered his head once more, his lips on hers as he pulled out, pushed in; their bodies moving together easily and gently in the scattered moonlight. Hermione's breath escaped her mouth in little gasps and she held onto him, desperate to stay in this quiet, sweet moment with him. Desperate for the peace they brought one another.

She held him to her, grasping at his back, trying to pull him closer as his lips found hers again, his body sliding across hers, his hands tugging her hips up to meet him. It dragged on for who knew how long. The time didn't matter. Shadows passed across the window, scattering light across their bodies until Hermione didn't know where her mind was anymore. Until he finally tore his lips from hers and buried his face in her shoulder, his mouth kissing her neck over and over, his lips whispering words against her ear.

She felt her own body still quivering beneath his, their hips in suspended animation above the bed, her back arched in pleasure. Very slowly, he lowered them down and wrapped his arms about her. She felt his body sag into hers and finally let herself relax, keeping her own arms close about him.

Then she waited again. His heartbeat finally slowed and he pulled away, still a little shaky. He looked into her eyes once more.

"I'm sorry-," he began, but she shushed him.

"Harry," she murmured, "we've been married for six years. When are you going to stop apologizing?" She smiled at him as he pulled them into a semi upright position, leaning back against the headboard.

"I know," he whispered. "I love you."

"I love you, too." She paused, still staring up at him from beneath her lashes. She grinned suddenly and struggled up into a better position. "Harry, what's going on? You're going to tell me eventually, so why not just say it now?"

He shook his head and pulled her against his chest, one hand curled protectively against her head. She smiled softly.

"Not…yet. Let's sit here a moment longer. Let me hold you," he murmured against her hair. She nodded and relaxed against him.

_If he was willing to wait for you for so long…the least you can do now is return the favor once in a while, _she reminded herself. Smiling again, she snuggled into his arms. He gripped her tighter, his unwillingness to let her go evident in his embrace.

Unbidden, a long forgotten image crossed her mind. Hermione squirmed some in his arms and tried to pull herself further into the protective curve of his body. Where had that memory come from? No matter. The flash of silken, blond hair against her skin was just a renegade thought, no doubt inspired by her unwanted interaction with Malfoy earlier in the day. _Ugh. _That was the second time she'd thought of him in less than one minute, not two shakes after making wonderful, wonderful love with her _husband. _Ugh.

She squirmed some more and this time Harry spoke, a hint of laughter in his voice. "What's wrong? Am I uncomfortable? Not enough meat on my ribs for you?"

She laughed at that; Harry had never had enough meat on his ribs for her, but she loved him just the same. He'd bulked out a little since their school days, but his body was still the strip of lean muscle he'd always been. First starvation, then quidditch, followed by his life as an auror all had kept him active and slim. She tilted her head back and looked up at him, smiling lazily.

"Not at all. Just…remembering."

"What were you thinking of?"

Hermione drew back into his arms some more. "School. Do you remember sixth year?"

Harry laughed and hugged her. "Do I ever. Remember the carnival Dumbledore-?"

He stopped and Hermione heard the catch in his voice. The headmaster had also been killed at the end of that year. She tried another memory.

"Or when you and Ron-?" This time her voice caught in her throat. Tension radiated from them until she finally forced her body to relax. "Well. I guess that's why we never talk about those days."

She felt Harry relax as well. He spoke again. "No…I don't think that's it, exactly. We just never really talk about it at all. When was the last time we had time to sit here and reminisce?"

"It's not like we haven't tried," she began. Harry laughed some more.

"We haven't had _time _to try. Don't worry about it. I always figured we'd talk about it when we had the chance. When we were ready to."

"Like when you mentioned Draco- that one time?" She looked up at him again and he smiled softly.

"Like that, yeah."

She smiled in return, satisfied. They were quiet again for some minutes and Hermione rested her head back on Harry's chest. She closed her eyes and felt one of his hands nestle itself in her hair, the other one stroking her shoulder in a calming manner. _If only we could stay like this…just for a bit, _she thought. _Just a bit longer._

Harry leaned his head back against the headboard and turned to look out their windows. The moon had just passed behind a cloud and the room was dim, dark. He held Hermione closer to him and felt her breathing easily.

"Maybe soon, after this case is over- then we can sit around all we like and talk about the good old days, hmm?" Hermione didn't answer and Harry looked down at her. She was fast asleep. He smiled again and nodded tiredly himself. "Good idea," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. Then he lay his cheek on her hair and closed his eyes as well. Soon, the sound of their shared breaths was all that floated through the room.

The clouds passed on with the remainder of the night.

* * *

The bathroom door of the master suite banged open and steam flooded out. Hermione blinked wearily over the rim of her coffee mug, which she had sensibly dragged back into the bedroom. If one must drink coffee, one may as well do it in style, was her motto.

"You never drink coffee anymore," Harry remarked, sitting down across from her. She smiled up at him. He'd just gotten out of the shower and his hair was matted down across his forehead. Although it was more tame now than it had ever been, it still rose in an unlikely shock on top of his head and he had to brush it several times a day- when he had the time. As that was a rare instance, it was the same tangle it had always been when he came home from work in the evenings. Hermione's eyes crinkled up at the corners as she tried not to laugh.

"I need it," she murmured instead.

He nodded somberly and poured a mug for himself. "I think I agree."

They were quiet for another moment. The dawn sky continued to lighten. There was a haze on the horizon. Harry set his cup down with a thunk and stared at his wife. She continued to sip her beverage complacently.

"We also need to talk about this."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Even though we're not supposed to?" When he nodded, she sighed. "I'll talk if you do. You're probably working the same case anyway, if what George told me is true."

Harry looked at her a little strangely and stared out the window. "And what does he have to say about it?"

"Oh, the usual," she replied, waving a hand. "The wards, and all that. Just the usual bureaucratic mess."

"He's right," Harry said quietly.

"I know."

"What have you found out, if anything?"

"What, do you mean proof?" Hermione set her cup down and stared hard at him. "What is it with the ministry? This is a serious problem! Is the meaningless slaughter of wizarding and muggle families alike not enough proof? Are the needless deaths in an perfectly preventable auto pile up not enough proof? Honestly, Harry! What more does the ministry want?"

"We're doing all we can," Harry said gently. "Don't think the aurors don't get just as frustrated and ignored. The ministry has been telling us for months to treat it all like they're individual cases. My hands are tied!"

"I'm sorry, Harry. I know that. But it's going to take time for our departments to pull everything together. And Percy is fighting us every step of the way. I only found out all the details yesterday!"

They both sighed and went back to brooding over their coffee. Suddenly, Harry perked up a bit.

"You know, there is one good thing about your working with Malfoy," he began. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"I doubt that."

"He's very tenacious," Harry offered, to which his wife suddenly laughed. His face grew serious. "Really! You're more alike than you realize, Hermione. He's a good worker and he genuinely cares about his job- even though you two might still not get along, he's changed."

Hermione's laughter continued to bubble up. "What, are you getting progress reports on him? Are you two friends now or something?"

Harry set his mug down again and stood up. "Look, if you're going to be like that, I'll just leave now."

Hermione immediately stopped and stood as well, grabbing at his sleeve. "No, don't. I'm sorry, Harry. It's just…well, you know how I feel about the bugger and you never talk about him much- how am I supposed to know what's going on?"

His eyes softened. "It's okay, Hermione. Don't worry so much. Besides, I shouldn't bait you that way. I know you hate working with him. But he's not so bad, I promise." He held her off at the shoulders and looked her over. "Not that I'm so trusting of him, either. I did almost lose you to him, after all."

Hermione laughed again. "Harry, that was eleven years ago!"

Harry's eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed with her, then hugged her to him. "I know, I know!"

"Hey," Hermione mused after some moments, "hadn't we better get ready for this work you find so frustrating?"

Harry hugged her tighter. "We had," he agreed, but he failed to let her go. She didn't complain, mainly because she was more disturbed than she cared to admit at the previous conversation. Not that it had been a real conversation, a fact she was glad Harry had never challenged. She didn't want to ever admit how much seeing Draco again both bothered and excited her; and she certainly didn't want him to know about the stern talking to George had given her on the subject.

"Hermione, love," he'd begun, "you've got to make Malfoy stop following you about like a stray dog."

She'd flushed red with embarrassment at first, then snapped back, "He does not! And even if he did, it wouldn't be my fault."

George had only rolled his eyes and shuffled through some paperwork. "I know you can't stand working with him for _whatever _reason, but he's good at his job and we need him doing his job, not mooning over you. So set him straight for me, alright?"

Hermione had wanted to sink into the floor. She still did, actually, and if it hadn't been for Harry's arms about her, she just might've. Why would George think she was the one at fault? She'd made her feelings on the subject of her and Draco perfectly clear to him all those years ago, hadn't she? And besides, they were both married now, with children at that! She really saw no reason now why she needed to speak to him again. In fact, she'd resolved to ignore George's advice and pretend the conversation had never happened.

Unfortunately, when Harry insisted on saying wretched things like, _oh, you have so much in common_, it was hard to thrust the entire affair from her mind. She seriously doubted whether Harry realized that even now, the whole thing was still a bother to her. An annoyance. He seemed more than willing to put the past completely behind them all.

_And here you are, still hanging onto everything- all those old feelings and frustrations. They seem to eat at you just a bit, don't they? That doesn't sound as if they're buried firmly in the past now, does it? _She frowned at her thoughts. On second thought, perhaps she had better talk to Draco after all. For Harry's sake. After all, she couldn't very well be married to her true love if she was constantly thinking about someone else.

Snuggling into his arms a bit more, Hermione resolved to take some action towards burying her personal hatchet. Not that it would be easy, but she supposed even Malfoys deserved forgiveness. But she wouldn't talk to him about it unless the occasion arose. Who knew? Maybe he'd behave himself properly for the next few weeks- it was a rather important job. One that needed to be taken very, very seriously.

Thinking back to George's conversation of the day before, she finally drew away and she and Harry began to get ready for another long day of work.


	5. Unconditional, Indeed

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_How sad to see a father with money and no joy.  
The man studied economics, but never studied happiness.  
-Jim Rohn_

* * *

Draco's morning was going far worse than Hermione's. To begin with, he'd gotten home well after midnight the previous night, which in and of itself would not have been so unusual. He and George had grown accustomed to burning the candle at both ends and the midnight oil was no exception.

Last night, however, was different. He'd dragged in the front door of the town home where he lived with his wife and son, his shoulders bent and his face pale. Granted, he was always pale these days, but it was worse than normal that night. He had been so visibly _weary _that his house elf had actually been overly solicitous of him. While the elf was normally gracious and hard working, it was never outwardly _kind_. In fact, Draco couldn't really remember a house elf ever showing him a visible sign of emotion other than, perhaps, fear.

"Sir? May I get you a meal, perhaps tea or brandy?" the elf had asked as it bustled about him concernedly, picking up the pieces of clothing he shed as he made his way to his study. Coat, hat, scarf, and robe all floated or were thrown to the floor. The elf had snatched them up rather indelicately, a horrified look on his face, as he followed his master about.

"Hmm?" was all Draco had managed in response.

The elf had looked disconcerted. "Coffee? Tea?" He had repeated the offerings as he folded the garments over the chaise lounge.

"Oh, hmm, yes," Draco had finally nodded, waving the elf away carelessly. As the elf had given him one last look filled with misgiving, he'd popped away to do his bidding. Draco had promptly collapsed into the chair behind his desk.

He'd known that bed was the place for him, but he simply hadn't wanted to go up yet. He would have woken Pansy in the process and then she would've wanted to talk and stare at him with those big cow eyes and pout until he soothed her and explained why he was home so late. Then she would have scolded him and told him he needed to take more time for himself and his family and it wasn't fair, was it, for the ministry to work him so hard! Never mind that he was the head of his sorely overtaxed, underpaid and largely _ignored_ department. No, he was a _Malfoy _and shouldn't that mean something? Oh, wait. Maybe that's what his mother would say. Or his father. _Whatever_. He really couldn't think straight just at that moment, anyhow, so what did it matter?

His last thoughts had been incoherent and blurred and five more minutes had passed before the elf returned with food only to find his master sprawled face down on the plush carpeting next to his desk. He had been sound asleep. The house elf had frowned in consternation before rearranging Draco on the lounge and tucking a blanket about him; which was exactly where Draco had woken up the next morning.

He'd woken with a crick in his back and a sharp tension headache and itchy eyes. He was pretty sure he wasn't sick, but Pansy had taken one look at him and begun fretting immediately. _Isn't this what I was trying to avoid last night? _he asked himself, smiling blearily at his wife.

"Pansy, I'm fine. I just needed a little shut eye, that's all." He swung his feet over to the floor and stood slowly, testing his knees. Honestly, he was only twenty-eight, but some mornings it felt like he was fifty. Pansy looked at him askew before fluffing some of the pillows on the chaise and then sitting down.

"Draco, that's what concerns me. You always look like you need sleep these days. I don't care how important your job is- how are you supposed to do your work if you're not in good health?" She patted the seat beside her.

"Come on, darling. Sit down- we need to talk about this."

Wearily, Draco sat and stifled a sigh. He propped his chin on a fist and stared moodily at a bookcase as Pansy prattled away.

"You know I love you, darling, and Merlin knows I'm willing to put up with a lot for your sake- but what about our son? He barely sees you as it is! And now you've got nothing but project after project, all of which need your constant supervision. When are you going to make time for your son? I can't raise him by myself! A child like ours requires special care-."

Draco continued to look away, passing one hand over his eyes as he interrupted her. "I'm well aware of that, Pansy. And I haven't missed a birthday party or a play date yet, have I?"

Pansy sat back a little, hugging one of the cushions to her chest. "I'm not saying you have, dear. You are a good father- when you're around. Barclay asks after you all the time, you know. Would it kill you to take him to school once in a while- or read him a book that doesn't involve the wizarding world?"

Draco looked at her, surprised. "Wait- do you think I'm not spending time with my- with _our _son because he might be a squib?"

Pansy stood up and shoved the pillow back in place. "Of course I don't think that." She paused. "But if you did, I wouldn't be _very _angry with you, you know."

Draco shook his head. "He's our son. He's my own flesh and blood. I might be sorry if it turns out…well, we'll see what happens. He's only six, after all. But I'd still love him, you nit!"

Pansy let out a little laugh and turned to leave the room. "That's good to know, then. Now, are you taking your son to school or not?" She turned back around when she didn't hear a reply.

Draco didn't answer immediately because he had turned to face the bookcase again, an intense expression upon his face. An idea had just struck him and he stood there, dumbfounded and exhilarated at the same time, kicking himself for being such an idiot.

"Draco?" Pansy asked again.

"Hmm?" he responded, then looked to her. "Oh, of course, sorry. Is he ready to go?"

"Well, yes," she replied, "but what about you? Don't you need a shower and change? What about breakfast?"

He rushed past her, placing a kiss on her cheek as he went. "I'm fine. I'll grab a change and get some coffee on the way to work. Don't worry about me, dear." With that he ran up the stairs two at a time, ignoring the pain in his back the whole way up.

"Don't forget your son!" she called after him.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Draco buckled his son into the backseat and then crouched back to look at the little tow headed boy.

"All set, Barclay?"

Draco was secretly pleased with Pansy's choice of name. His parents weren't, but then, his father had passed away last year and, quite frankly, he didn't think his mother cared as much as she made out. Not that it mattered. The name of their first child had been the officially chosen, Malfoy family name. It would have ill suited _any _child, let alone a dead one, and when his father had ranted about keeping up with tradition during their second pregnancy, Pansy had put her foot down.

_I will not give the name of my dead son to another living one! _He'd been proud of her in that moment. How fortunate for them both, he'd thought, that he'd married a woman with a backbone. Perhaps not as much of a backbone as another woman he'd once loved…well. He turned his attention back to the child in front of him just as Barclay responded.

The boy was nodding fiercely and lifting his hands to sweep them through the air in a ridiculous gesture.

"Accio school!" he squealed, pleased with himself. Draco cringed a bit.

"I hope you don't repeat that at your school, at least," he murmured. The boy stared back at him with large blue eyes, the only concession to his other bloodline. Aside from those bright blue eyes, he was the spitting image of Draco at age five- all hands and legs and straight, pale hair and even paler skin. It warmed his heart to look at him, truly. The boy was so innocent- not a hint of trouble maker anywhere in him- and so kind. The boy had yet to go off a night light. That was okay with Draco. He only wanted his son's happiness, after all…even he was a bit of a pansy. Draco chuckled at his own pun and shook his head. Even if he wasn't around half the time, he still loved the boy dearly. He _was_ Pansy and Draco's little miracle.

His few consolations on the point of being absent were that one, it meant he spent less time with Pansy as well (even though he loved her, too, but really- how well could a man put up with a clinging wife?) and two, he'd heard that Potter spent about as much time with his own child. So in that department, he and Potter were running a close second. In every other department, unfortunately…well, it didn't do to dwell on such things. Besides, he was _mostly _happily married and he had his son's future to consider.

With a grin he tousled the boy's hair and then closed the door, turning to slide into the front seat. Oh, if only Crabbe and Goyle could see him now: driving a muggle automobile (at least it was a Rolls) and taking his son to a muggle school (the best academy in London). Still, it was rather out of character from his Hogwarts days.

_Well, things have changed, _he thought as he glanced at his son in the rear view mirror. _My priorities have changed. The only muggles that deserve to die are the criminal ones; and some of the muggle inventions have been rather useful. Besides, it's my job to understand them better. I need to be able to live like they do, even if it's living like the rich ones. _He smirked a bit and pulled out of the garage and into the street.

"Ready for school there, Barclay?"

His son grinned and continued to wave his arms about. Draco took that as a yes. Like his magic- _if he has any_- his son didn't show much inclination to talk. According to Pansy he was a veritable chatterbox, but around himself he was quiet. That was okay, however. Draco wasn't sure what life would be like if Barclay turned out to be a squib, but he didn't really care much, either. As long as he could keep both the muggle and wizarding worlds a little safer for him, that was all that mattered anymore.

And now that he'd had his brilliant idea, perhaps he could make good on those intentions. Mindful of the other traffic, Draco sped down the street and off towards the school. He wondered briefly if he could still get to the office before Hermione and explain his brilliant idea to George, so he wouldn't have to explain it to her himself.

* * *

While Draco generally hated borrowing Hermione so often- as it meant he had to be in her willful presence (_most _painful, really)- she was a good worker and her personal experience with the muggle world made her invaluable to his department. He hadn't asked George to transfer her though, mainly because he didn't think he could handle being around a daily reminder of his previous life. But he knew the other man could read him like a book. That Weasley was a practically inhuman judge of character. Unfortunately for himself, he was also an _interfering_ judge, which had made things uncomfortable for him more than once in his time at the ministry. He'd carried the note from Hermione all that time ago around his coat pocket for a week before finally burning it uselessly in his fireplace. He'd never watched her that much, had he?

But no, this was the same argument he'd had with himself at the time. He wasn't crazy; he wasn't a stalker. If he watched Hermione at all it was only because he still felt guilty over that one night…with a sigh, he pulled up around the circle in front of the school his son attended and parked the car. Getting out, he was just opening the rear door to get Barclay out when the boy shrank back into the seat further.

"Come on, Barclay. School isn't that bad, I promise. Besides, you want to meet your friends, right?" The boy shook his head and tried to keep his father from unbuckling the safety belt.

"Not feeling…w-well," he stuttered, the smile gone from his face.

"None of that now, son. You were perfectly healthy a few minutes ago." Draco ignored the whining and gently, but firmly, undid the belt; and took the boy by his waist to haul him from the back seat, if need be. Draco was quickly becoming disenchanted with the situation. If this was what Pansy went through every morning, he had no desire to repeat the experience. Besides, he still hadn't had his morning cup of coffee and he sorely needed it at this point. With a grunt, he tugged the boy out of the back seat with promises of ice cream for dinner.

Barclay clung to his father, legs wrapped about his waist, arms about his neck. It wasn't a problem because the boy was small for his age, but it didn't do much to improve Draco's rapidly increasing ill temper. He pasted a smile on his face as a familiar voice sounded behind him and then grabbed Barclay's book sack before turning around.

"Malfoy! Good morning! Is that your son you're dropping off? Normally I see Pansy around this time. How are you, Barclay?"

The boy smiled shyly and Draco attempted to stick out a free hand only to realize he had none.

"Sorry, Longbottom. I seem to be full up at the moment," he smirked and the other man smiled kindly.

"I understand perfectly, Malfoy. I have about as much available hand space as you do." Neville nodded at the seeming brood surrounding him and Draco almost gaped, stopping himself just in time.

"Are they- um-." he raised an eyebrow at the other man.

"Huh? Oh, no! Only the one is mine- little Ronald." He shook an elbow towards the gangly red head that was running off across the flagstones towards a huddle of friends. "Our other two are too young for school yet. His friend there is our next door neighbor- a nice pair of muggles, they are- and this one," he nodded at the girl holding his hand, " is Harry and Hermione's. She spent the night yesterday because they've been awfully busy. And frankly, Ginny loves having her. She wants about ten girls, I think, because she got so tired of having brothers growing up. If they aren't careful she might steal Viola away." Neville chuckled fondly at the little girl who was still standing there, clinging onto his hand.

"Why isn't Barclay coming down?" she asked suddenly, her big green eyes sparkling with unrestrained curiosity. It was all Draco could do not to laugh- possibly cry, he really wasn't sure which. He suddenly felt incredibly sad and happy all at the same time, seeing this little girl who was so obviously the daughter of both her parents.

Looking down at her in all seriousness, he replied, "I really don't know. Let me ask him."

He turned to his son, whose face was now tucked firmly into his neck. "Barclay, Miss Potter wants to know what on earth you're still doing up here."

When he didn't answer, the girl frowned. "Barclay Malfoy! You promised!"

Draco felt his son shiver in his arms and tugged the boy away from him somewhat. "Barclay," he said sternly. While he wasn't sure he was entirely happy with the thought of his son being playmates with Potter's child, he certainly hadn't been raising him to be ill mannered.

The boy only hung his head and Draco swiftly disentangled himself and set the boy to the paving stones. Barclay turned his silvery blond head towards the dark, curly one and rolled his eyes.

"You can share my cubby hole duty today," he mumbled.

The girl held her head up proudly. "That's right," she said primly, and then taking leave of Neville with a grand curtsy, preceded Barclay into the front doors of the building. With another great, martyred sigh, Barclay took his book pack from Draco and walked glumly after the little girl.

Neville and Draco stood staring after them before bursting into laughter.

"Oh my gods! What _was _that?" Draco gasped out. "I don't know if I even need coffee now!"

"I have no idea," Neville replied, wiping his eyes. "But I can see why parents walk about with video cameras strapped to their waists all the time. Merlin, she's just like her mum. And it looks like he takes after you, at least," he grinned.

"Oh, no," Draco responded without malice, "I will own no part of that display. That was entirely Pansy's doing!"

Both men smiled openly at one another and finally shook their now free hands; not much to say to one another beyond the niceties.

"Well, I'll see you around, Malfoy. I have to get back to the little ones. Take care!"

Draco raised a hand at Neville's retreating back and then slid into the front seat of his vehicle once more. He was still feeling a little out of sorts at having seen Potter's daughter for the first time, but work was work. He desperately needed to get there and speak to George before Hermione. More than ever. Then maybe he could lock himself in his office the rest of the day- anything to avoid speaking to the damned woman directly. His foot hit the gas pedal with a vengeance and he shot down the street in his sleek muggle car.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey there...I'm sorry for taking so long to update. I am definitely taking longer to post than normal. Unfortunately, it will remain so for another week or two at least. I have a lot of work to do that requires my full attention. I will, however, try to keep posting on a weekly basis. Feel free to bug me to remind me of that promise if you feel I'm taking too long. Again, I apologize and thank you for your continued readership- it really does mean a lot to me. :)**


	6. Procedures

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling. **

* * *

_A surprising number of human beings are without purpose, though it is probable that they are performing some function unknown to themselves.  
-Marion: Picnic at Hanging Rock_

* * *

George glanced up from his work, surprised to see the figure which had strode so purposefully into his office that morning was Draco's.

"Er- something you need, Malfoy?" he queried, looking at the other man warily. While he'd expected to see the other man at some point that day, he wasn't expecting him so early, before he'd even finished his morning coffee. Still, he noted the look of longing Malfoy gave his coffee mug with satisfaction. At least that meant the man hadn't intended on disturbing him this early either. The thought made him a little more forgiving.

"Can I offer you some coffee, perhaps? Whatever it is, it can wait another minute or two. We _have _been waiting almost a year as it is. So sit down for a moment." George held a steaming mug out to Draco, who took it gratefully. "Hermione brewed it fresh herself a few minutes ago. I swear I wasn't here all night." the Weasley added, grinning.

Draco practically choked on his first sip of the beverage and then shrank down quickly in his seat. "She's not- she's not _here _already, is she?" he asked, looking around quickly.

George narrowed his eyes and came around the front of his desk, perching there to contemplate Malfoy. "She is," he said calmly. The other man shivered and blanched over his mug. George frowned. "Oh, drink your coffee, you git."

"Hey! There's no need for that, now-," Draco began.

"Au contraire, my dear _Draco_," George replied evilly. "There's every need for it. Now, I already spoke to Hermione about it yesterday, but I'm going to speak to you too, seeing as you're here already. In the first place, you're bothering Hermione. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have a problem with you pursuing her, aside from the whole 'that's despicable because you're married' thing, but honestly, we have loads of work to accomplish-."

"Oh, stuff it, Weasley!" Draco muttered, clinging to his coffee mug. "I haven't the time for this tripe of yours about my predilections in women and morals. That's not what I'm here for! And besides, I had a brilliant idea," he added, leaning forward in his seat.

George became all ears and immediately shut up. Extra marital affairs be damned, the fate of the whole of London might hinge upon Draco's next words. "Well go on then!" he responded excitedly.

"I will, but- well, I can't help it, Weasley! I won't have her barging in here knowing it was me again! She already despises working with my department and I really need her on board with this one."

"Fine, yes, but _go on_!" George replied, flicking his wand and sending the door to his office shut and locked. "Better?"

Draco sat back with a sigh of relief. "Yes, as I was saying…Grange- _Potter _is the key. I'm such an idiot for not having seen it before! Consider this," Draco said, standing up to pace the room, "consider that we know next to nothing about the wards aside from what appears in the official ministry files on them. Then," he added, "consider how little else we've found within ministry documents and even the newspapers on them."

George nodded and set his mug down on the desk behind him. "I follow you so far."

"Well, I ask you this- what haven't we done yet?"

"What do you mean?" the other man looked at Draco, puzzled.

"I mean," Draco replied, "consider what sources we haven't looked at _and _exactly who we have working right here in your office and on top of all that-," he paused for dramatic effect, "consider what her favorite activity as a young witch at Hogwarts was and exactly what kind of a collection that library she knows _so very well _holds!" He sat down triumphantly and smirked.

Understanding dawned in George's eyes and he grinned suddenly. "Why Malfoy, you perfectly wonderful wizard! I could kiss you! You're absolutely right-."

"I know! Never thought of it before-."

"We're complete idiots!" George finished before striding to the door of his office and flinging it wide open.

"Hermione, darling! I must speak to you at once!" the redhead called out just as the woman in question passed his doorway. She jumped backwards with a yelp.

"George?" She peered inside his office. "_Malfoy?_" What in the devil's name was that son of a bitch doing at the office so early? And someone else's office, at that? He was the very last person she wanted to see this morning, let alone at all. She'd just come from home after spending a lovely evening with Harry…and now she had to spend time with _him? _Draco? Of all people? And she hadn't even gotten to see Viola this morning! Now she might not even make it to the school by lunch to sort things out about sending her to Molly and Arthur for a week or so. Draco's brilliant plans _always_ took longer than he said they would. _Why, Merlin, why? Why is it always me and that man? Can't I ever get away from him? _She shook her head and entered George's office, crossing her arms.

"Well, what is it?" she asked coldly. George cast an admonishing look at her before gesturing to Draco.

"Tell her, Malfoy. It was your idea."

Oh, Merlin. This was exactly what Draco had been hoping to avoid. He cast his own scathing glare at George before turning to Hermione. Though facing her, he was careful to keep his eyes on some speck upon the floor rather than her face as he addressed her. He _detested _looking at her when she was in one of these moods. Her eyes always flashed with the same accusing glare they'd held for him ever since that time…well. Best get on with it.

"I'm sure George brought you up to speed on the situation yesterday?" he asked, chancing a look at her. Her eyes softened imperceptibly.

"Right," she confirmed and he nodded once.

"Well, then you know that our information on the wards is rather…limited. As such, our lack of information hinders our investigation in that any evidence we gather cannot be irrefutably linked to the current warding situation. So we desperately need information."

She interrupted him, "And you think I know something? Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped.

Draco's head whipped up and he stood to tower over her. "If you'd let me finish for once, you spoilt girl-!"

"Woman, _Malfoy, _I'm a woman! Not the little girl you used to push about-!"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Granger-!"

"_It's Potter_!" she hissed and immediately turned her back on him, suddenly very interested in the pictures upon George's wall.

"Oh! Oh, _Christ, _Hermione! This is bloody important- now will you stop acting like an insufferable know it all for once?" Draco clenched his hands into fists as he yelled at the back of her head. _Gods, _that woman!

"I _am _an insufferable know it all!" she returned, but obliged him by turning about and taking a seat. Merlin, why did he do this to her every time? Always making her lose her temper- well, maybe no more than Harry did, but still. She wasn't married to Draco, _thank god,_ and it would be nice if they could just bloody get along or keep out of each other's way for once! She kept her arms across her chest and glared at George as if to say, _this is all your fault, you prat of a boss. _George stared back innocently and raised his eyebrows.

"Well, Malfoy?" he asked the other man, whose breathing was only now slowing; although the flush in his cheeks remained. These fights never failed to amuse George (except when they were a bother) because normally Malfoy was so stoic these days; honestly, the man was practically imperturbable. Yet, get him in a room with Hermione Potter and all hell broke loose. The only times he did well with her were when large amounts of other people were about. _And Malfoy wonders why I insist he keep it in his pants around her, _George sighed to himself. _Doesn't he see how he feels about the poor thing? _Although that thought sent a chuckle to his lips, earning another glare from Hermione. _Her? A poor thing? Never._

After a long moment, Draco finally began to elaborate again after casting a skewed glance at Hermione. He didn't sit back down.

"I bring all this up only to point out that we have the perfect resources at our disposal. One," he began, "What is the largest and most extensive library in our country?"

"Why, the one at Hogwarts, of course," Hermione answered, her brow furrowed. "But what does that- _oh._" Her voice grew very, very small and she sat back thoughtfully in her seat. Draco and George nodded encouragingly.

"Right. So who knows more about that library than Madame Pince, rest her soul?" Draco asked, calmly. The infamous librarian had actually passed away a few years ago, but like Professor Binns, she had kept her position. Those that had known her in life found it amusing to remind her of her passing, as she didn't seem entirely aware of it herself. The woman's ghost rattled about the library with as many shushes and library fines as she ever did.

Hermione seemed to think seriously for a moment before saying, "Well, Dumbledore, I suppose, knew more…he certainly kept his own separate collection of books which _technically _belonged to Hogwarts, but really, I don't see how-," she would have gone on if Draco had not interrupted her again; this time to George's laughter.

Draco glared at him as if to say, _there! You see why I question your good sense in trusting her?_ He turned to Hermione. "Potter," he said carefully, "who has spent more time in the library at Hogwarts than even any Ravenclaw has good claim to?" Her eyes widened.

"Oh! You mean _me_." She suddenly leapt from her seat. "You want me to go to Hogwarts and research the matter? But _of course_. That's a wonderful idea! I can't believe I didn't think of it myself- honestly, all that material and right there for me to see. I just…we left our school days behind us and it never occurred to me…" she looked up at George. "I'll need you to write a letter of introduction. I may be a darling to them, but we'll still need to go through the proper channels."

She began to pace. "And, of course, we'll have to come up with a good excuse…otherwise Percy might get suspicious. Perhaps if I could check the books out and bring them back here, or even home- but that will take an order from the headmaster. Well, no matter. I'll start drawing up the paperwork. And you get to work on that letter of introduction!" she reminded George before rushing from the office and making pall-mall for her own desk, eager to get to work.

Draco stared after her in consternation. "Did she seriously just buy all that?"

George grinned once more. "What were you expecting her to do, Malfoy? Turn down the opportunity to ransack her favorite library for information pertaining to an extremely difficult case to crack, all because the suggestion came from you?"

"Well…yeah," Draco admitted, disconcerted. George laughed.

"She doesn't _hate_ you, Malfoy. You just, well- you really do bait her an awful lot."

Draco fought hard to keep his shoulders from slumping. "I know," he answered quietly. "But she's the most infuriating witch I've ever known."

"I think she's that to all of us," George replied. "Now, don't you have somewhere else to be? Like your own office?"

"Fine. But I want a carbon copy of every move your team makes," he reminded the other man as he left the office.

"We talked about it yesterday, Malfoy. I will. Now go brew your own coffee. Work officially starts in ten minutes and you're going to need it. No one wants a grumpy team," he reminded Draco, who rolled his eyes in return. Striding from the office, he shoved his hands in pockets. He hummed a little as he walked.

Perhaps the day wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

Hermione sat slumped over her desk at lunch, munching absentmindedly on carrot sticks. It was all she'd had time to throw in her bag when she'd rushed out of the flat that morning. She'd been hoping to leave with time enough to swing by Ginny and Neville's and see Vi, but she'd had no such luck. Traffic had been bad and the floo network had been clogged on top of that.

She sighed and put her head in her hands. Actually, it seemed that taking her daughter to school two mornings ago was probably the last time she'd get to do that for a while. Crunching another carrot, she left it dangling between her teeth and sifted through some more papers. Well, no help for it. She and Harry had always done their best to make sure their daughter knew how much they loved and cared for her. She wasn't spoilt by any means- the fact that they saw her so little sometimes was a testimony to that- but she never wanted for anything.

It almost killed Harry some days, she knew that. After growing up the way he had, surviving all those years without parents of his own…it didn't matter that Molly and Arthur had practically adopted him. He'd always talked about being there for any children he had; being the perfect parent.

But he'd decided to become an auror before he ever got married. And then he'd decided he _liked _his job- loved it, actually. So there'd gone his plans. _Her _plans. Heaven only knew Hermione didn't like missing time with her little girl anymore than Harry did, but it really was unavoidable.

Ah well. Stacking the papers in her hand neatly in the 'out' pile on her desk, she reached for another stack. Reviewing old case information and filling out forms was what she was limited to at the moment. She wished she could dig into the Hogwarts collection right away, but they would have to wait; go through the proper channels; follow procedure. Most of all, they couldn't attract attention. While Hermione felt sure that the current Minister, Melusine Dearborn, would listen to reason, she couldn't get past Percy. No one could. He was like a human- wizard- _fly. _Honestly, the man was bloody _everywhere_, and no one she knew had gotten an appointment with Minister Dearborn in absolute _ages_.

A knock on her doorframe woke her from her thoughts. Somewhat startled, she glanced up quickly and a smile spread across her face.

"Harry!" she exclaimed and jumped up from her seat, rushing around the desk to give him a hug.

He caught her to him and smiled softly. "How are you doing today? Any more news?"

"Nothing yet," she admitted, pulling back. "But we're working on a wonderful plan. I'm to infiltrate Madame Pince's, god rest her soul, high security at the Hogwarts library."

Harry grinned. "That's brilliant!" He leaned forward, waggling his brows at her. "Do you think you'll need my invisibility cloak? And how will you ever avoid Filch in the restricted section?"

Hermione laughed- _giggled, _really- and hugged Harry once more. "Well, what about this afternoon? Do you think you can swing by the school to say goodbye to Viola before I take her to the Burrow?"

Her husband's face fell and he buried it in her hair, groaning. "No, that's why I came to see you just now."

"Oh, _Harry_," Hermione moaned, "she'll be so miserable if she doesn't see you for a whole two weeks!"

"I know," he replied, his eyes sad. "But there's been another accident, not more than twenty minutes ago. I already apparated to check it out and Creevey is there now; I left him in charge till I get back. But I had to come and let you know." He paused, searching her eyes. "It's bad this time, Hermione," he whispered. "Worse than-."

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. "Don't tell me anything yet- you've got to follow procedure. We can't afford to have Percy breathing down our necks about that as well." Her eyes softened and she held his hand tightly. "With any luck we'll see each other at some point tonight. If I'm not home, you know where to find me."

"And if I'm not home, I'll at least owl you. Look, I'll try to stop by the Burrow tomorrow evening to say hello, at least. I'm really sorry about this, love." He leaned forward and kissed her soundly. "Don't wait up for me."

Hermione nodded and then watched him sweep from her office. She sat back against her desk, angrier than she had perhaps been in a very long time. _Another _accident? That did it. She needed access to those books yesterday. Making a snap decision, she followed Harry out of her office and headed down the corridor, letting the double doors to her department bang shut after her.

* * *

**Author's Note: To all my anonymous reviewers (I'm being so lazy this time), thank you so much for reading. I truly appreciate all your comments and I hope this story can live up to the hype I built up for it! If any of your questions haven't been answered yet (within reason, I won't describe the entire plot to you), bug me some more. It's late and I know I've missed things.**


	7. Of Automobiles and Sealing Wax

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_The gaps I mean,  
No one has seen them made or heard them made,  
But at spring mending-time we find them there.  
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;  
And on a day we meet to walk the line  
And set the wall between us once again._

_-Robert Frost, 'Mending Wall'_

* * *

Hermione marched straight through Draco's department, ignoring the looks she received and especially ignoring Smith, who kept at her heels like a Jack Russell.

"Please, Potter, he's busy- I really think you should have called ahead- will you just wait a minute? Potter-!"

With one well placed hand to his chest, Zacharias Smith went toppling over the railing that separated Draco's office door from the pool of assistants and secretaries. Well…mostly assistants. The Muggle Relations department was so overlooked by the Ministry that they didn't even _have _secretaries. As far as Hermione knew, Smith filled that role as well as being deputy head.

He hit the floor with a resounding thud and scrambled back on his hands, looking at Hermione like she was insane. She probably was, on second thought. She felt a little crazy at the moment. Shooting him a look as cold as ice- Smith had taken his cue to torment her from Draco, she knew- she spun around, marched up to Draco's office and slammed the door open wide.

He wasn't at his desk. She scanned the small room quickly and her eyes found him standing, leaning against a wall while listening to the wireless in his room. Upon hearing his door burst open, he looked up quickly only to say, "Hush, will you? I'm getting a report on the accident."

Hermione, though somewhat frustrated, was immediately quiet. She might need to speak with him, but she had to admit she was severely curious and anxious about the latest disaster.

"Today in the west of London an entire apartment complex, home to more than three thousand muggles and wizards alike, imploded from unknown causes, although evidence has been found that another complex appeared on the same site, causing the devastation that we can so clearly see here. However, no corresponding reports of another complex gone missing can verify this theory. The aurors were the first to arrive on the scene, followed by more emergency and medical personal. We have not received a death toll from the ministry, but they assure us they are doing all they can. Meanwhile, we can see the body bags piling up as members of the medical squad continue to search the remains and debris.

"The ministry is cooperating with the muggle law enforcement and disaster relief personal in order to more quickly get to the bottom of this terrible tragedy. Was it perhaps faulty building materials, or was it something more sinister which caused this-," the voice continued and Draco shook his head.

"Merlin," he whispered. "The devastation must be horrendous. Can you imagine? Not only would it have decimated the complex itself, but I'm sure the debris has spread out into roads, the surrounding businesses…," his voice trailed off and he looked up to her eyes, seeing no accusations this time. Only anger against the injustice and terror for what this latest tragedy might mean for the rest of them.

Hermione moved forward, her anger surging in her like waves against rocks. She placed her hands on her hips and resisted the urge to stamp her foot and throw things. She needed this man's help, whether she liked it or not. She only hoped she wouldn't regret what she was about to say.

He looked at her expectantly. "What is it, Potter?" There was no malice between them now. Only the mutual need for action. This tragedy signaled an incredible increase in both the number of accidents and also the severity of them. There had been the accident on the South Loop only a few weeks ago…

Hermione frowned. "Believe me, I don't like being here anymore than you enjoy it-," she watched his face for a smirk. When none came she continued, "but there are some things that only the Malfoy family name can accomplish, even after all that's happened."

He raised an eyebrow at her, but maintained his silence. She tapped her foot impatiently, as if he was an idiot for not seeing what she needed him to do. After all, hadn't the whole thing been his idea? She cleared her throat.

"Draco Malfoy, I need access to that library _now_."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione was back in her own department, talking to George, hauling on her coat.

"Really, George, it's fine. We're both okay when we have an immediate job to do."

"Hermione, in case you hadn't noticed, you insisted on driving all the way there. That's nearly five- _six_- hours by auto, even souped up auto, like I'm sure Malfoy has. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

George looked at her in an amused fashion. Honestly, he didn't have a problem with them going together, but he wanted to make sure the crazy woman who'd shown up at his office five minutes ago knew _exactly _what she was doing.

"As long as you're aware of the fact you're going to be in an automobile."

"Mmm," she replied, tying her hair back.

"With Malfoy," he prodded. She only looked at him as if to say, _yes, well, do you have a point?_

"For nearly six hours."

"Yes, George, I know all that! But it's the only way we can get into Hogwarts _today_, something that needs to be done very desperately. I have to get at those books as soon as possible and waiting for paperwork and Percy to come sniffing about and asking all sorts of awkward questions we don't want him to know that answer to will most certainly guarantee that I don't get that access for at least another week!" She stopped to take a breath. "George, we don't have another week. You heard the report on the accident as well; we can't sit still any longer."

He looked her over and finally gave a small nod. "You're right, as usual. Well, just come back in one piece."

Hermione looked at him oddly until he said, "An enclosed space with Draco Malfoy for six hours?"

At that, she blanched and looked distinctly wan. "Well…so I am crazy after all. At least wish me luck. I have to get going or else he'll yell at me for being late."

George glanced at her in surprise as he hugged her and handed her a full coffee travel mug. "Since when do you care if he yells?"

"Enclosed space? Six hours?" she reminded him over her shoulder as she grabbed her briefcase and rushed from the room.

George stared after her before shaking his head and heading back to his own office. She was insane. She had to be. Shaking his head again, he sat down at his desk and picked up his phone. If he wanted to give them extra time, he'd have to think of ways to start stalling Percy now. Dialing a number, he waited for the phone to ring. While he may not have an in with his brother at the moment, he certainly was glad he'd kept in close touch with his former Quidditch team members. For instance, he was sure Percy had never given much thought to the fact that a good friend of his had married the Minister's son…he started to speak into the line as the ringing stopped.

"Hello, Alicia? Yeah, it's George- I'm good, how are you? Ah, wonderful, wonderful! Listen, Alicia, I hate to bother you, but I need a favor. Right, you know how Percy is…," he continued smoothly, a grin of satisfaction upon his face already.

* * *

Harry received the owl at the accident site only half an hour after he'd been to see Hermione. He read it with disappointment.

_Harry, _

_I'm so sorry about this- I know it's a bother, but I've owled Molly to tell her that I can't pick Vi up after school this afternoon and I've already sent the appropriate papers to the school's office by fax. Listen, I'll be gone most of the evening- maybe all night. I'm off to raid Hogwarts. I'll owl you when I can. Please eat some dinner and stop by to see Vi if you can. I'll stop by the Burrow tomorrow to see her, myself. I know you're busy. Please forgive me! I love you._

_Hermione_

He shook his head, fighting the smile on his lips. She could be so frustrating sometimes- here he had gone to see her to specifically tell her he couldn't meet Viola at the school and she'd gone and one upped him once again. Ah, well. Folding the paper carefully, he tucked it inside his robe and stepped over some more rubble to speak to Creevey about leaving for a few moments later on. He had to admit, the man was doing an admirable job of things. Who knew? It might mean a promotion for Dennis, even. The smile passed off his face as the other man approached him.

"What is it?" Harry asked sharply, noting the grimace on Creevey's face.

"I'm sorry, Harry. It's just that the count…well, they have an estimate," he said, motioning behind him to the devastation. "And a possible cause," he added, holding up a particular piece of debris. It was a street sign.

Harry shaded his eyes for a moment and then looked up again. "That street sign doesn't belong to this district," he murmured.

"That and some of the numbers on the buildings…the building cornerstones as well, don't match up. We think it was another, well, splinching. Since that's the only word we have for it. Like someone tried to displace an entire building complex." Harry's frown grew longer and Dennis nodded. "That's not all. The count is up to twenty-five hundred."

Harry turned away and called another man forward. Merlin, he needed to go see Viola now, if he was ever going to.

"Listen, I have to leave for a few minutes. Just keep doing what you're doing, Dennis. You're doing a fine job." Then he opened the door to one of the department vehicles and slid in. "I'll be back soon as I can. And hey, try to get the media out of here, will you? Not the wizards, the muggle cameras. The last thing we need is a panic in muggle London. Tell the police we're releasing only the facts."

With that, the car door shut and Harry was soon pulling out of the lot and heading for down town.

* * *

Viola looked at Barclay over her juice box. He was coloring quietly at their table. It was their afternoon play time at the moment and Barclay always headed for the coloring books. He never seemed to want to play act. Viola found this fact rather disappointing, but she was content to sit near him and watch him color. Sometimes she would tell him what color to make things.

Sometimes he would actually take her advice.

His stubbornness didn't really surprise her (although she was generally used to the boys wanting to do her bidding), because he was older than she was by almost two years. The reason they had class together was because the school they attended practiced mixed co-education. They liked to pair up an older child with a younger one, putting them in mentor-like relationships. It was supposed to help the students build co-operational and leadership skills and overall self-esteem.

Viola really didn't think Barclay helped her build any of those large words, but she was still glad to have him as her friend. In as much as they were friends. He didn't like to talk very much and he seemed to enjoy solitude to her company, but he at least listened to her when she talked to him and he _did _help her with her work. Well, when she needed it. She took after her mum in the brains department, as her dad said. Still, they generally had a happy relationship since Barclay was as smart as she was, if not _more_ so, simply because he was older.

Today, however, he was being especially moody. She finally dared ask him what was wrong…in her own special way.

"You're not being very nice today," she murmured around the straw in her mouth. Her lips pouted a bit.

Barclay looked up at her in consternation. Unlike her, he had no trouble at all with the big words. "Dunno what you mean," he said sullenly, and returned to his coloring.

Her lips pouted even further, if it was possible. She slurped at her juice box with renewed vigor. Barclay looked up once again.

"Will you stop making that noise?" he demanded.

She smiled sweetly at him, the straw dangling from her mouth. "Dunno what you mean," she replied before returning to her slurping.

Barclay groaned and closed the coloring book.

"What's wrong?" he asked, still staring at his book. Viola slurped some more. Barclay waited. Normally, he'd be inclined to get up, leave, go somewhere else. Unfortunately, when one was at school, one _couldn't _get up and leave. He had to stay there. With her. And her slurping. It was frustrating, to say the least.

He'd freely admitted to his mum that he liked the feeling of having someone looking up to him; and the few times Viola had actually needed his help had been gratifying; but she simply didn't need his help all the time. She was too smart for his tastes, frankly, and the games she enjoyed did _not _appeal to him. Running about, playing 'save the princess?' No thank you. He also had to admit she'd never been really _mean _to him, but they were so different. She was always chattering away and playing with her friends and making up stories and he liked being by himself, just thinking or reading or coloring.

He sighed when she didn't respond and so flipped open his coloring book once more. He was connecting the dots on a unicorn when she scooted her chair closer to him and peered over his shoulder.

"What _is_ it?" he couldn't help but ask again.

Vi shook her head full of curls and scooted even closer. Barclay went back to coloring, his own blond locks falling into his eyes. He whuffed them out of the way and reached for the gold crayon. When he couldn't find it, Vi suddenly reached her hand over and placed it on top of the paper.

He looked at her strangely. Her lips were still wrapped firmly about the straw in a pout, mouth slurping away. She looked back at him, then finally pulled the juice box away.

"Is your mummy picking you up today?" she asked.

He frowned a bit. "Maybe. Dunno. Daddy brought me this morning." He paused, then added, "We drove in the car."

When Viola didn't respond, only went back to slurping, he found himself growing curious.

"Isn't your mummy picking you up today?" he prodded, picking up the crayon and coloring in the horn. Viola watched his hand move across the page and then shook her head.

"No…she was going to. But she has to work. So does Da," she ended quietly, her face a mask. Only her green eyes sparkled in a dim manner. Barclay looked back at her while reaching for another crayon.

Another minute of silence passed before Barclay suddenly felt a slight weight at his shoulder. He looked down to find Viola resting her head against him, juice box firmly ensconced in her hands, straw in her mouth.

This time, he didn't move away and decided not to say anything. After all, these younger children could be very sensitive about their parents. He didn't want to upset her or anything- the comfortable feeling of being needed or the fact that he could understand her loneliness had nothing to do with his compassion.

He continued coloring.

* * *

**To _mofo: _You're right to brace yourself; it won't be long now. And see, there will be tons of D/Hr interaction in the next chapter…I've set it all up. Nothing like a road trip for bonding. Or fighting. Or bonding over fighting. Eheh. As for George's observations- I think he's not the only one who's noticed, he's just the only one who cares enough to be vocal about it. More will be revealed later! **


	8. The Erlking

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**Author's Note: Yes, I am using some actual sites in London in this story. Please bear with me; I've never been to London and know next to nothing about it (except what I've read in Dickens), so all my information comes from Wikipedia and other various internet sources (since I'm too lazy to actually pick up a real book). **

* * *

_I want the last face you see in this world to be the face of love, so you look at me when they do this thing. __I'll be the face of love for you.  
-Sister Helen Prejean: Dead Man Walking_

* * *

Just as Harry pulled up in front of his daughter's school, his radio buzzed. Groaning, Harry turned it up. 

"Go ahead," he said. Would he never get five minutes' peace? He'd _told _Creevey he'd be back as soon as humanly possible; what could the bloody problem be this time? He stared at the now crumpled note in his hand. There wasn't any hiding it; he really was glad to have an excuse to take a break and go see Viola, if only for a few minutes. He didn't spend nearly enough time with his daughter…or his wife, for that matter. No, it seemed like no matter how many promises he'd made to himself about being a good husband and father, he couldn't seem to keep any of them.

"Potter," sounded the voice of their Head Auror, Williamson, "I know you're working the complex scene, but we've had some strange reports."

Harry immediately sat up straighter, alert to the voice coming over his radio. "What is it?"

"Well- where are you right now? Creevey said you'd left. Are you on the East side, by any chance? Near Moorgate?"

"I can be, Sir," Harry responded. _Shit._ It looked like he might not make it to see Vi after all. And she was right there! Just inside those double doors! It was so frustrating, Harry felt like screaming for the first time in a very, very long time.

"Well, I don't want to hurry you or anything, but the reports- they're like the others."

Harry's heart leapt in his throat. Damn it. He immediately put the car into gear and pulled away from the school to head for the Moorgate stop.

"I'm on my way," he said shortly into the radio.

"I'll tell Creevey," Chief Williamson replied. Harry tuned out and headed down the street, going as fast as he could without attracting attention.

In spite of Harry's need to see his daughter- and not have Hermione yell at him later, although she never really _yelled, _per se- he really did need to get to the tube station, and quickly.

_The reports are like the others_…Williamson's voice ran through his mind as he pulled into a parking lot and got out, careful to leave his robe in the car. It wouldn't do to have people staring at him. He slipped his badge into a front pocket and, locking the car, headed for the steps of the underground.

* * *

Draco didn't speak as he maneuvered the Rolls down the highway out of London, heading in the direction of Hogsmeade. It would take them five hours, maybe four if he drove over the limit, to reach the village and another half hour to get to Hogwarts. It was already half past noon. Needless to say, he intended full well to drive over the limit. He didn't want to spend a second more than he had to in the same car with this, this…_witch._

For a witch she was, truly. If ever he knew a woman who filled the image muggles held of witches stealing away the hearts of men and controlling their lives, she was it. Gods, her hair smelt like cinnamon apples- the scent was filling his nostrils, even with his freshly cleaned leather interior. She was so damned intoxicating…more than he even remembered! Then again, he hadn't been in this close of quarters with her since their school days. Thinking back, he tried to recall when the last time he's been this close to her had been. Was it that time in the closet? His palms slipped against the steering wheel and he swore at himself. _Now _was most certainly not the time for meaningless reminisces.

His foot ground down on the gas pedal as the passed out of the city limits and into a borough.

Hermione looked at him askance, tearing her eyes away from the steno pad in her hands. A charmed ink pen- in their school days it would have been a quill- was tucked behind one of her ears, sticking from her head of smooth curls like an antennae. In fact, if Draco wasn't so distracted by the smell of those curls he might have even laughed at her.

"Aren't you going a bit fast?" she murmured finally, turning her attention back to the note pad.

"Do you want to get there as soon as possible or not?" Draco questioned coolly, arching one eyebrow, seemingly at the road in front of him. His hands were gripping the wheel so tightly he thought he might lose circulation at the elbows.

"I'd prefer being in one piece when we arrive," she said, drawing the pen from behind her ear and jotting a few notes on the paper. She was acting so nonchalant! He thought it might drive him crazy. How could she be so normal, being this close to him? Was he the only one still affected by their undeniable chemistry?

_Just drive, Draco, _he reminded himself. _Remember what George said. Besides, it's not like you're unhappy with your marriage or anything._ He scoffed at himself. _Right, because it's perfectly normal for a Malfoy not to get his first choice. _Sighing, Draco pulled up from the gas somewhat and they continued to drift along the road in silence for several minutes more.

It was almost a…_comfortable_ silence and at first Hermione wasn't even aware Draco had paid any attention to her request. When she finally did notice, she didn't say anything. She'd found it was best to speak to him as little as possible anymore. Sometimes she fancied he was disappointed she didn't talk more around him; like he enjoyed their spats, enjoyed her conversation and company.

But was she the only one of them who remembered what had happened that night? How he almost saved them, but not quite- because he'd still been too afraid of doing the right thing to say a simple lie. The lie that could've kept those awful, awful things from happening. She still dreamed about that night sometimes. Some days, if she wasn't feeling well, she could still feel the effects of the Cruciatus lingering in her bones…like she was some old woman who could foretell the weather.

She'd forgiven him, she decided. She'd forgiven him a long time ago. But the problem with forgiving and forgetting was that sometimes it was hard to forget, especially if there was a constant reminder of the evils that had been perpetrated.

Hermione also wouldn't deny the fact that there were days- rare one, but they still happened- where she would wonder if she could have stopped it from happening. If she had made a different choice back then, when they were all so young, could she have helped him change?

She knew the truth was that no, she couldn't have. He'd made up his mind long before he'd decided he, well…the point was that she had tried to help him and it had turned out he didn't want her help. So that was that.

She continued scribbling in silence. There were more important things to be focusing on at the moment (wasn't there _always _something more important?)- for instance, the reason they were in a vehicle together at all: she needed to get at the Hogwarts collection.

First, however, she needed to compile all the information the had on the wards and accidents into a short list. She'd thought to bring all the file work with her, but she didn't want to have to pour through all of it in order to research the Hogwarts materials. It would be better to have a list of the basics going into her search rather than carry every single case file in with her. Besides which, that would garner attention she didn't want.

"Malfoy," she said, turning towards him slightly, "would you listen to this for me and correct anything I've gotten wrong?"

He glanced over at her briefly. "What are you up to?"

"I'm organizing my notes so I can get this done more quickly. I'll need your help once we get inside, by the way."

He shrugged. "We could've gotten there ten times quicker if we'd just apparated."

"Malfoy-," she began.

"Draco," he said, interrupting her. "If we are going to be in this vehicle for the next four hours then I insist you call me Draco," he paused, "And I know all about the restrictions the ministry has put on apparating since the accidents have gotten worse. Still, there has to be a faster way- broomstick, for instance!"

Hermione grimaced. "I can't stand broomstick. Besides, I know you've had this car modified, _Draco_, so don't sit there and tell me it can't get us there just as quickly as a broom would."

He resisted the urge to snort. "I thought you didn't want me speeding," he smirked.

"Well…just no where that people can see us," she said quietly, returning to her notes. "Now, are you going to listen to this or not?"

Draco hit the gas pedal once more. "Go ahead, I'm listening."

Hermione's voice started soft; she still sometimes couldn't believe that any of this situation was real; that the ministry would abandon the truth the way they had- and she felt that way even after living through the second war! But there it was, when she spelled it all out on paper: the truth stared her in the face and it was ugly and incomprehensible and still confused her.

"Wizarding London is separated from muggle London through many spells, shielding charms and complex mechanisms that we still don't understand completely…some of them, like the spell that kept Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place hidden are familiar, but others are unknown…however, we are aware someone or _some organization_ has, for the last three hundred and fifty years _at least_, been casting protective wards to keep these spells from breaking.

"The wards supposedly extend the life of the spells and charms which are already in place, thus negating the need for the caster to refresh them regularly. We _think _this may be the reason why these so called 'splinchings' are occurring with more regularity now: because who or _what_ ever was maintaining the wards previously has been neglecting its duties. We _suspect _it may be the ministry at fault, but because the wards are such old magic, we cannot be certain."

Hermione looked up at Draco again, waiting for his pronouncement. "Well? That about sums it up for now, doesn't it?"

He nodded and glanced at her again. "Any idea of what we need to be searching for in these dusty tomes of yours?"

Hermione flushed lightly and looked back down at her note pad. "They aren't _my _books, Draco Malfoy," she replied, trying to keep her tone light and playful. Honestly, what was this git on about?

He smirked. "I was only teasing you, Gr- Potter…_Hermione_," he finished. "Besides, they might as well be yours; you were the only one who ever really cared about them besides Madame Pince."

"Right," she replied, allowing herself a small snort of derision. "As if you knew how I spent my days."

"Don't go there with me, Potter," he warned. "I knew perfectly well how you spent your days. Locked up in Gryffindor tower or down in the library, reading any and every book you could get your hands on. Not to mention making cow eyes at Potter when you thought he wasn't looking," he said calmly. Frankly, Draco was surprised at himself for keeping his temper in check…if one could call baiting her like he just had keeping a temper in check at all.

"Oh stuff it, Malfoy," she responded quickly. "I don't know why you always have to do this," she grumbled.

"Do what?" he asked, arching another perfect eyebrow.

"Ruin a perfectly fine conversation!" she shot back. When he didn't answer, she slid down in her car seat. "Never mind. Just drop it."

"There's nothing to drop, _Hermione_," he said smoothly. "We were just having a conversation. It's not entirely my fault they always go south, you know."

She didn't speak again for some minutes, trying to arrange her thoughts coherently. She didn't know why he always did this to her. It drove her crazy, really. Maybe George was right- maybe she should've just faced up to her fears of flying and hopped on a broom. After all, a fall from hundreds of feet in the air from a broomstick might be a better fate than being stuck in a car with this, this…_beast._

Draco sighed and finally spoke once more. "Are you going to tell me what exactly we need to be looking for or not?"

Hermione roused herself and turned to glare at him as icily as she could. "Are you sure you want to listen?"

"Yes, for the love of Merlin, Potter! Just tell me what I have to do," he spat.

"Fine," she sniffed. "We'll need to know exactly when the wards were first applied; who created them and, subsequently, who sustained them; figure out if there are any common symptoms of their collapse; and, if it's possible, figure out what the correlation between the wards and these accidents are."

"So any and all information we can dig up will be useful," he replied dryly.

"Basically, yes," she responded grudgingly before drawing out her steno pad. Her pen began to scratched quietly at the paper once again.

Draco nodded and silence descended upon them once more. _Merlin, give me strength, _he intoned to himself. He didn't exactly relish the thought of spending hours in that dusty old library with only her for company, but it seemed his lot in life to constantly follow her about. With another sigh, he pressed his foot on the gas pedal some more.

The Rolls soon picked up more speed as it flew through the countryside on its way to Hogwarts.

* * *

The door to their classroom opened with a creak and the teacher came over to stand by them. She knelt by Barclay's seat and smiled at the two of them; Viola's head was still resting on the little boy's shoulder and she appeared to be fast asleep. 

"Barclay, did you remember that you have a doctor's appointment?" his teacher asked quietly.

He shook his head. "Well, your mummy is here to pick you up for it," the woman continued, gesturing back towards the door.

He looked at her sadly, then down at Viola. Her curls spilled out over his arm; they were soft and fluffy. She looked so peaceful…he looked back at his teacher.

"But it's not time to go home yet," he replied, whining just a little.

"I know, Barclay, but your mummy has already checked you out of the school for the day. You need to get your things. Come on, now."

"What about-," he began, but his teacher shushed him.

"I've got her," she said, smiling as she gathered the tired little girl in her arms. "You go on now; your mummy is waiting for you right over there."

Grudgingly, Barclay wandered over to his cubby and gathered his things. He looked towards the door to where his mummy was standing. Pansy waved and smiled at him, holding out her hand. With one backwards glance at Viola, who remained fast asleep in his teacher's arms, he nodded and then turned away, walking towards his mother.

She reached down and took his hand. "I'm sorry to take you out of school this way, darling," she said. "But have you had a good day?"

He nodded again, this time smiling up at his mummy with big blue eyes. She took his book sack from him and they started from the room and down the hallway.

* * *

Harry walked down the stairs quickly, his eyes alert for any sign of trouble. He saw the group of wizards almost immediately; they were talking to another man- a policeman. Harry walked up to them and flashed his badge. 

"What's going on here?" he asked the group. The bobby checked out his credentials and then tipped his hat.

"They've reported seeing things, Sir." _Ah. _So the police officer was one of their own.

"Right. Can you brief me quickly? I've just come from the other accident."

As the officer and fellow wizard spoke, Harry could already see that the reports corresponded to the others. And without a doubt, he knew that the good people who were using the Moorgate stop that day were in terrible danger.

The reports that were being described were something that he had held back from Hermione; not because he'd wanted to, but because it was the policy. He'd had to keep them from her and the other departments, no matter how desperately they needed such information. He'd cursed Percy Weasley's name every step of the way in their investigations anyhow; as it was, the aurors really had no business working these cases first anyway! It made Harry angry to think of the hours they'd wasted trying to determine- _pretending _to determine whether or not the accidents were caused by a dark wizard or wizards unknown.

Anyone with an ounce of sense could see perfectly well that these accidents were not caused by dark magic. No, they were the result of someone's (probably a someone in the ministry) incompetence and inability to realize they'd forgotten- because that was all it was, a confounded mistake, overlook, _forgetfulness_- to recast the wards. The problem was that even Harry, like so many others, was only conjecturing. For some reason all the paperwork in the ministry about the mysterious and elusive wards had gone missing several months back. As if someone didn't want to own up to their mistake. Personally, Harry felt that person was the one they should be looking for, not investigating cases that fell under another department's jurisdiction. And now not even the appropriate department was heading the investigation, because everyone else was too afraid to touch the cases! It infuriated him to no end.

So here he was, in a muggle underground station, interviewing wizards who'd been taught to look for the signs of an impending 'accident.' Strange lights, shadows and smells all fell under that category. So did visions of other people and places. The problem with the wards was that so much of wizarding London overlapped various parts of muggle London, or was squeezed into nonexistent spaces, that when the wards gave it was like an explosion of matter into a space that was only large enough for one building, one home, or one person.

And the Moorgate junction was headed for the same disastrous end, if the reports were any indicator. But still, people kept pouring into the stop, down the steps, crowding onto the platform. Bank workers and teachers and attorneys; parents and children and teenagers. An unmistakable shadow passed behind the other officer once, then twice. Harry suddenly felt very afraid.

"We need to close this stop," he said to the other man.

"We can't, Sir, I've tried already. Headquarters won't give me the okay and when I tried to get in touch with the Ministry to put some weight on the Chief, they blew me off!"

Harry swore and headed for the stairs again. "I need to call them myself, then. You try and monitor how many people are coming in and out, at least. And start passing along the word that the stop is being closed for emergency maintenance in five minutes."

He wouldn't make it as far as the entrance before an explosion in the tunnels below would rock the ground, sending him toppling back down the stairs and into the station.

* * *

Pansy hoisted Barclay in her arms as they walked down the stairs at the Moorgate stop. She'd already explained to him that since Daddy had the car, they had to take the tube today. Barclay didn't mind; he'd been on the tube before for fieldtrips and he thought it was fun- although he didn't really like all the people. Sometimes they smelled. 

He knew, though, that his mummy would hold him and everything would be fine. Pansy had long gotten over her distaste for all things muggle and had accepted the necessity of living in a mixed society. After all, her son might turn out to be a squib and she felt the most important thing was to make sure that he would be perfectly at ease and comfortable living in a muggle world. No, what mattered most was that her son- her little miracle child- was alive and well and happy. And now she knew her husband loved their son just as much as she did. Nothing could make her happier than she was this day. Nothing could ruin her feeling of contentment. She smiled at the boy in her arms fondly and he grinned back at her.

"Ready to go, darling?"

She slowly made her way towards the train that was just stopping. The doors slid open…and the world went haywire.

She gasped as the floor beneath them began to shake, almost as if another train were pulling into the station. Grasping her son close to her, she whispered quiet words in his ear while trying to ignore the screams of pain and fear around her. His small hands crept farther around her neck and she turned, watching in horror as a train came barreling down the platform at them.

There was blood everywhere. There were bodies everywhere.

Pansy suddenly found herself praying.

* * *

Harry hit the ground of the station hard and winced at the impact; but he rolled and was up on his feet in another moment, wand out and at the ready. He stared in horror at the sight before him. No wand- not even the Elder Wand- could do anything to stop this horror. 

Another train had appeared out of nowhere and crashed in a disastrous stop in the middle of the concrete platform inside the tunnel. It had careened to one side, crushing another train that was properly on its tracks- or that had been at one time- and wrecking the supporting arch of the north side of the tunnel. Electrical sparks flew from both tracks and horrendous cracks had begun appearing in the walls and floor- even, Harry noted with horror, the arched ceiling looked as if it was about to collapse.

Around him, he could see a few people trying to struggle from the debris, but a thick black smoke had begun to rise from one of the tracks and those that weren't already dismembered or spliced were choking on the fumes of an electrical fire. Harry tried to create a breeze to dissipate some of the smoke, but he quickly discovered that no matter how much he sent into the haze, more smoke filled the space.

In the wreckage, somewhere close at hand, he could hear cries for help, prayers, and then- and then he heard a child. A little boy caterwauling for his mother.

Harry's heart leapt the second time that day and he headed farther into the dark, unbearably hot space, following the sound of the child's cries. Within moments he'd found him…a small boy who couldn't be much older than his own little girl, clinging desperately to the severed body of what Harry could only presume was his mother. There was blood all over; the child was injured as well.

"Oh, Merlin," Harry choked out and reached for the child. He had to tear the boy's hands from his mother's dead body before he could pull him back to relative safety.

"I need to get you out of here," he said to the boy, who only continued to cry and moan.

Pulling out his wand while balancing the boy in his other arm, Harry quickly summoned his Patronus. If he wanted to salvage any lives here today, he knew he needed to get information to the aurors as quickly as possible.

"Go to Williamson- say, 'I am safe for now, but require immediate assistance. There has been another disaster-,'" Harry didn't complete his thought. He heard, instead, the sounds of a wall and steel beams threatening to give way. He looked back to his stag, standing there so proudly. His heart wrenched.

"Go now! Hurry!" he exclaimed, watching it bound away through the smoke just as he heard what sounded like another train barreling into the station…the danger wasn't over yet.

Without another thought, save for what Hermione would say when he didn't make it to see Viola at her school, Harry gathered the injured and now quiet boy closer in his arms and dashed for cover.

_If only_- oh, if only he could make it to the entrance before it was too late. _Please- let me save one...just one person, that's all I ask._

He hoped Hermione would forgive him.

* * *

**Author's Note: I can't believe I'm writing this. I just can't. **


	9. Rock Me Asleep

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.  
-Kahlil Gibran_

* * *

The impact of the second runaway train was what finished it. It ran pall mall into the station, destroying what little structure was left to hold up the weight of the earth and Harry barely had time to throw himself, boy in arms, under a crawlspace before the station was finished for good.

It was as simple as that; a fallen wall, a crushed subway car, a broken body. With his next breath, his arms still shielding the little boy from the falling debris, Harry was gone.

With everything he had been through in his lifetime, Harry had never thought of himself as immortal. He'd always known that death was right around the corner. It could strike at anytime and usually did; with unfeeling accuracy and a tragic aim.

He had just never dreamed he'd go like that: under tons of debris with no warning; no chance to say goodbye. Had he told Hermione he loved her that morning? He couldn't remember. Had he kissed his daughter goodbye last night? Had he done everything he could to make sure they both knew that they were the center- the very _center_- of his life?

The pale little boy in his arms looked up at him in the dim light as dust filtered down upon him. The question of would they survive or not was upon his face. Harry found he could only smile weakly before he closed his eyes. The boy soon gave up trying to shake him awake and only drew closer into the curve of Harry's body.

After several minutes of silence within their tomb of concrete and steal, the boy began to cry and clung to the dead man's arms in his fear.

Those cold limbs were all that was familiar now.

* * *

Hermione closed another book shut with determination. She had a bad feeling; she'd had it for the last two hours- like a stomach ache, only worse. She reached up a hand to her hair and freed it; shaking it out and running her fingers through it for a momentary rest from her weary job before she pulled it back up in order to return to the words and tiny lines of text.

They'd walked into the castle under a veil of secrecy and marched straight to the headmaster's quarters where they'd managed to finagle a pass into the restricted section and all other areas of the Hogwarts library. After that, Madame Pince had avoided them, harrumphing about adults displacing children. Hermione secretly thought the woman had always been afraid that she might try to steal her job. Ah well, spilled milk and all that. Her stomach flipped again and she frowned, picking up another book. Really, what was wrong with her? Maybe it was the disappointing search they'd been having.

The material she'd found so far had definitely been helpful, but there had been nothing truly ground shaking. She glanced over at Draco. Maybe he wasn't distracted by stomach aches. When he felt her eyes upon him he looked up.

"Anything yet?" she asked.

"Not what we need," he replied simply. "Do you need a break?"

"No, no. It's better we plow ahead. I'd like to get home tonight, if possible."

Draco smiled then, the first smile she'd seen on his face in a very long time- or had she just not been looking? He nodded his agreement. "Fine, then. Let's stay at it. Are you done with that book?" he asked, pointing. Hermione shook her head and started to pass a different one to him when sounds from the front of the library reached their ears.

Hermione glanced up sharply. She could have sworn she heard- it _was _Ginny's voice! But why was she here? She looked at Draco, who was out of his seat and staring down the aisle behind her.

Hermione stood up as well and saw something that, under any other circumstances, would have been an amusing sight.

Ginny was tearing down the center aisle from the library doors, the ghost of Madame Pince hurrying after her hissing at her to be quiet.

"Hermione?" Ginny called, her face indistinguishable amongst the shadows. As she drew closer, Hermione could see something indescribable and frightening in her expression.

"Oh, thank Merlin, Hermione!" The redheaded woman drew closer and stopped short, still ignoring the ghost hovering behind her.

"Miss Weasley! I must insist that you either leave or be quiet this instant! I have students her trying to work- this is a _library, _Miss Weasley!"

Ginny glared at the woman's specter and turned back to Hermione. "Hermione, I had to come and see you right away- I would've been here sooner but for these _ridiculous_ apparation restrictions- oh, Hermione, I'm glad you're alright!"

Ginny's voice held a hysterical note and Hermione stared at her hard, eyes wide. She took in the woman's uniform and wind chapped face. Draco could only look at her strangely. After a long moment where Ginny was bent over her knees, catching her breath, Hermione finally spoke.

"Ginny, did- did you _fly_ here? From your quidditch practice?" she asked. Her voice caught in her throat and she continued to search her friend's face for some hint of why she'd done such a _stupid _thing.

"I had to, Neville came to my practice- we were running late, you see- and oh, that must've been about three thirty in the afternoon- what is it, six now? And he told me- well, we t- talked and I left straightaway because he said that George had told him you were here, but no one else was to know-," she stopped to breath.

At that point, Draco interrupted her. "You're babbling, Longbottom. Get to the point. Can't you see she's worried sick?" he snapped, gesturing at Hermione. Her face was almost as pale as his normally was and she was trembling slightly.

"Ginny…" she began, "what happened to send you flying out here to see me? Why didn't anyone floo or owl us?"

Ginny suddenly looked very uncomfortable and her face flushed as her eyes filled with tears. Instead of saying anything at all, she began crying, unable to speak.

"Oh my god…Ginny, what is it? What happened? Is it one of- is it little Ronald? Are your babies alright-?" When Ginny shook her head, Hermione continued to talk- her voice pitched a little higher and a little louder. "Viola?" she breathed. "Is it my baby girl? Ginny, you have to tell me! Is it the ministry? Who died? What happened? Why won't you tell me?!"

She was practically yelling at the other woman now and Ginny took a step forward, lifting her hands to Hermione, her tear streaked face evidence enough.

"Hermione, they would've owled you- I asked Neville to, but he said that it was classified. The only way to get to you was by coming in person. Hermione," she pleaded, her voice shaky. "I'm sorry- they found his body only a few hours ago-."

"_No_."

Hermione's world spun to a halt. She blinked, feeling tears start to sting her eyes. It was impossible. _Impossible._ She tried to speak.

"No, no!"

Hermione's voice was barely more than a whisper. The sound that issued from her throat was hoarse and scratchy and it already felt like she'd been crying for days although a single tear had yet to fall from her eyes. Her throat felt dry and her tongue thick, as if she was choking. But it couldn't be true- it couldn't!

One look at Ginny's sad, pitiful expression, though, and Hermione felt herself come undone.

"Oh my god," she gasped, voice wracked with disbelief. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh, _god_!" Her knees collapsed beneath her and she sank to the floor.

A strong arm reached around her waist, hauling her back up. She couldn't see for her tears, she couldn't breath for the lump in her throat. A strange buzzing had filled her ears and all she could hear were the sounds of her own grief.

Other voices murmured around her- Ginny and Draco, Pince…then McGonagall was there as well. Other voices from her past. From _their _past. She fell to her weeping with renewed vigor so that she didn't even notice it when they took her from the library. She didn't notice when they led her to the infirmary.

She saw them pour her the sedative, however.

"No!" she yelled suddenly. "I won't!" She turned to Ginny, her face a mess of tears and pleaded with her friend. "Where is Vi? Where is she, Ginny? I need to see her!"

Ginny watched in sorrow as Draco put his arms about her best friend, trying to bring her to her feet, trying to keep her from dying as well. She knew how badly that pain hurt- Harry had been her friend as well- but she couldn't begin to imagine losing Neville like Hermione had just lost…it was too much.

She looked up in Draco's face and he stared back at her. His face was drawn, his eyes wide, and for the first time in her life, Ginny detected uncertainty on the face of Draco Malfoy. For his part, he _felt _as uncertain as he looked. Potter, dead? It wasn't possible. That son of a bitch was supposed to live _forever_. He wondered, briefly, if he was in shock as well.

Ginny spoke. "She's at our house, Hermione. She's with Neville. He hasn't told her anything yet. George is there too."

Hermione choked on more tears before she managed to speak again. "Take me to her- Ginny, please?" Shaking, she pulled herself upright and slowly detached Draco's arms from her shoulders. "I'll be okay. For now, I'll be okay. Let me go home and be with her. _Please._"

Ginny stared hard at Hermione and then looked back up at Draco. "Did you drive here?" she asked softly. "I could use a break from broomstick for a bit," she said wearily, waving a hand towards her legs.

Draco nodded understandingly. "Uh- Of course. I'll go bring it around front." He turned and looked at his former professor. "Minerva, would you mind-," he began when Hermione interrupted him.

"The books!" she exclaimed. Draco looked at her with what might have been a mixture of pity and amusement.

"I was getting to that. Minerva, we require these resources at the ministry. I'm sure you trust us to keep them in good condition and return them in due course?" he asked stiffly.

The elderly witch glanced at Hermione's now still form, sympathy evident in her face. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy," she murmured.

Draco strode from the room and Ginny turned back to her friend. "Will you at least take something for the ride back? There's plenty of time for explanations later."

Hermione couldn't bring herself to look in Ginny's face any longer. She couldn't think, couldn't breath. She didn't _want _to breath. _Viola. You have your daughter. She's safe. She needs you. _Hermione straightened herself up some, wishing she could be as strong as the coming weeks would demand. But she only managed a small nod before collapsing into tears once more.

Oh, Harry. _Oh, Harry!_

* * *

The drive back to London was quiet. Ginny sat in the back seat with a sleeping Hermione's head on her lap, her arms about her friend's small, still form. Draco looked back at them in the rearview mirror repeatedly. He found he couldn't take the silence any longer.

"What happened?"

Ginny looked up at him, her eyes tired and face puffy. She'd obviously cried the whole way to Hogwarts- and in cloud cover, at that.

"Train station." She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, as if trying to remember exactly what Neville had told her.

"Moorgate, I think. The one near Viola's school. He was found with a child. A wall collapsed? And he- he was protecting the-."

Draco's knuckles turned white. "Moorgate? You're sure?" What had Pansy told him about Barclay today? An appointment of some sort, wasn't it? But no, surely nothing had happened to them. She was his wife, after all, and he was the head of a department at the Ministry. If anything happened to his family, he would be notified. Then again, it had taken someone willing to fly hundreds of miles in order to get the word to Hermione. There was no telling what the ministry was thinking these days.

Ginny nodded and turned her gaze out the window at the dark landscape passing them by. "I'm sure."

Silence fell in the cab again. Draco hoped desperately that Pansy'd had the good sense to take a taxi to the appointment for Barclay earlier instead of the tube, as she sometimes bizarrely insisted on. Unconsciously, he stepped on the gas pedal some more. The auto continued to speed through the night.

* * *

They finally reached the street below the Longbottom's house and Draco pulled to stop by the curb. He put the car in park and left it idling while he went around to the back to help Ginny get Hermione out. They'd made it back from Hogwarts in record time, mostly with the help of cloaking and speed charms. They'd stopped for petrol once.

"How is she?" Draco had asked Ginny at that point. The red haired witch had only frowned. She knew he meant well enough by it, but it was hard not to snap at him, so she'd sighed instead.

"She'll manage, I hope. The potion is wearing off. She's sitting up on her own now, but she won't say anything. I tried talking to her already."

Draco had glanced in the backseat at her before turning back to Ginny. "That can't be good," he'd remarked, his face a mask of concern.

Ginny had only looked at him in a weary bemusement. "Sometimes silence is best in these situations," she'd murmured in kind before returning to Hermione's side in the backseat.

They'd taken off again soon after.

Now, helping her from the car, she seemed completely out of sorts. While Draco knew, logically, that it was only natural for her to be hurt and confused right now, he also couldn't help wanting to do something. It seemed wrong for her, for _Hermione_, of all people, to be sad and grieving. To be _numb _like she was. Hadn't she experienced enough of that already? Hadn't he been one of those to help make her life hell?

And yet here she was, still taking punches from a life that had already been so unfair.

The door at the top of the stairs opened and light spilled out onto the steps. Two figures rushed from the house and suddenly Hermione was being taken from him, just when he could offer her- what? What could he offer her, exactly?

Before Ginny and Neville escorted her up the stairs Ginny turned to Draco and thanked him. He brushed it off and gave her a weak smile. Neville shook his hand and then turned to help Hermione in the house. Draco stared up after them longingly for a moment.

A voice spoke from beside him.

"Thanks for bringing her back, Malfoy," came George's voice. "It means a lot- to _all _of us," he added, looking after Hermione's small figure meaningfully.

Draco snorted. "I'd never wish this on anyone, Weasley. Let alone Hermione. Let alone _Potter_. The man helped save my life- and Pansy's," he said softly. He paused, finding that he suddenly had the desire to talk about what had happened all those years ago.

"Before we even got engaged, Pansy was pregnant…and then we got married for the sake of the baby- not that we didn't want to marry each other- and our first son was stillborn."

George's face was grim, but he stayed quiet and listened closely. That was one thing Draco liked about the older twin. He was good at knowing when to listen. When to make the moment count.

"My father thought it was because he must have been a squib. He said that no future Malfoy wizard would ever have been stillborn. He wanted me to divorce Pansy." Draco paused. "When I wouldn't, he threatened to have Death Eaters come after us. I couldn't leave Pansy at that point. She'd been devastated by the loss of little Scorpius." Another pause. "So I went looking for Potter. And he helped us. He helped _me_."

Draco's voice suddenly cracked and he passed a hand over his eyes, remembering those painful days of hiding, of making the decision to fight against his own family- remembering how Harry Potter, his own sworn enemy, had not cared about his past transgressions. He felt a hand at his shoulder and he looked up again, grateful for George's silence more than ever.

"I suppose I'd better get home," he murmured.

George gestured at the open doorway. "Would you like to come in for a minute?"

Draco shook his head. "No, with all that's happened- I need to go home and make sure my family is safe. Thanks just the same."

George nodded. "Be alright?" he asked. Draco waved a hand and opened the driver's side door.

"I'll be fine. Should I come check here first thing before heading to the office tomorrow?"

"No, office first, although I wouldn't be surprised if the ministry calls a national day of mourning just to put off our efforts. Listen, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Nodding, he slid into his car as George headed up the steps. He waited until the light from the doorway disappeared and all was quiet and dark on the street once more. Wearily, he sat back in his seat.

* * *

Draco couldn't begin to categorize how he was feeling. He was angered at the ministry's lack of action; he was grieved over Potter's death- one of the bravest men the wizarding world would ever know, no matter what previous course he'd personally held with the man- and then there was Hermione. His heart ached for her. It _ached_.

He couldn't imagine, as much as he missed Hermione, losing Pansy in the way she'd lost Harry. It was unbearable to consider. Hermione had been his past- she had been a cherished and painful memory- but Pansy was his future. She cared for him more than, he suspected, he had ever cared for her. And she was the mother of his son. Of _both _his sons…

In fact, he loved her.

Maybe not in the way he'd thought he once loved Hermione, but in a quiet, peaceful way. A way that satisfied him and brought him a certain contentment with his lot. He suddenly had the urge to go home and tell her that right away.

Taking the Rolls out of park, he pulled away from the curb and sped down the street, heading for his own home and his own family.

* * *

**To _mofo_: Yeah, this will be the last of a serious run of updates for a few days, at least. I tend to escape into my ships more often when I'm stressed, but I really do need to stop procrastinating, myself. Blah.**

…

**And yeah, I'm killing him. Don't think it's easy for me. I kind of wish, right about now, that I'd never written a sequel. I'm ridiculously sad about it and I've known for a long time it was going to happen. If you're interested, I found a video on youtube that perfectly describes Harry's and Hermione's relationship. It's titled _Harry Potter- The Promise Harry/Hermione _and it's by kacheall. **


	10. Toll On

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_There is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and have recovered hope.  
-George Eliot_

* * *

Once they'd moved her inside, Ginny turned to face Hermione. Her friend looked terrible- her face drawn and ashen, her hair a tangled knot on the back of her head, her eyes bleary and still moist from tears. Ginny felt her heart give a huge wrench in her chest and she threw her arms about the other woman.

"Ginny…" Hermione murmured. She hugged her friend back gently before disentangling herself. "Where is she?" she asked quietly. Her voice, if nothing else about her, was surprisingly normal and calm.

Ginny looked to Neville. "She's upstairs, asleep. I put her in Ronald's room again," he said softly, putting one hand on Hermione's shoulder briefly before withdrawing it. She smiled at him gratefully. She didn't want anymore sympathetic touches; no more pitying hugs. She just wanted to see her daughter.

Hermione started for the stairs. Below her, she could hear Ginny trying to call out to her. To Ginny, this was the moment where, if this were a film, they'd watch Hermione walk up the stairs and seconds later they would hear a gunshot. She was desperately worried for her friend.

"Hermione- what are you doing, Neville?"

He'd taken his fiery wife by the arm and was holding her back. "Just let her go. Let it go, Gin," he murmured to her in hushed tones. He knew that no matter what happened, now was not the time to interfere.

As she made her way up the stairs, Hermione felt extremely grateful. No more. She didn't want to feel anything else tonight. She just wanted to see her little girl. _Their _little girl.

She opened the door to Ronald's room quietly, one trembling hand turning the knob. She entered the room quickly, closing the door gently behind her. There, in the lamplight which spilled in the window from the street, was her daughter lying in the twin bed opposite little Ron's. She stood there a moment, silent, taking in the scene. It was so peaceful, as if nothing so horrendous had happened earlier that day.

She wondered briefly who had picked Viola up from school.

Then she realized it didn't matter, because it would never be Harry's job ever again.

Stifling a sob, she made her way over to the bed her daughter lay so quietly in and, lifting the covers, crawled in next to the little girl. Her raven curls spilled over the pillow and onto her arms and her tiny form lay curled up, knees drawn to her chest, breathing deep and regular, eyelids fluttering in her dreams.

Hermione lay down beside her and slowly- _gently_- passed her arms about the small, sleeping form; drawing the girl close to her, tucking her into the curve of her own body. She could feel her child's heart beating steadily. It should've been reassuring.

Laying her head down on the pillow, she could feel her tears slipping from the corners of her eyes…racing down her temple, her cheek. Soaking the fabric. Soaking the curls beneath her face. Her hair was matted down with her daughter's, her brown waves indiscernible from those black ones in the dim light.

Viola shifted about in her arms a bit, eliciting another choked sob from Hermione's throat.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered into the darkness. "You've left us after all."

Holding the little girl tighter, Hermione finally closed her eyes against the flood of tears and attempted to sleep.

Maybe, if she was very, _very_ lucky, she would never wake up.

* * *

Draco pulled to a stop in front of the town home and fairly leapt from the vehicle. He didn't have time to put it away- he was in too much of a hurry to see his family. He had to know they were alright. He had to make sure they were safe. Potter's death had affected him more than he cared to admit.

Opening the front door, he stepped inside quickly and closed it behind him. The house was silent and dark.

That wasn't right.

"Pansy?" he called, suddenly concerned. He flipped the light switch in the front hall and blinked at the brightness. He glanced about and noticed a note on the hall table. He walked over and picked it up.

_Darling,_

_If I'm not here when you get home, don't worry too much. I told Mother I would stop by with Barclay after his doctor's appointment. We might stay there for dinner. And take care to eat something yourself- you know I don't like my men too thin._

_All my love, Pansy_

It was Pansy's handwriting. So…stopping by her mother's, eh? Draco breathed a sigh of relief. Well that was fine, then. He set the note back on the table and turned about, removing his coat.

"Shackleton?" he called. The house elf shuffled from the shadows of a doorway down the hall.

"Sir!" it called, its face transforming into one of recognition and cheer. "Oh, I am glad you are home, Sir," the elf murmured as it came forward to take Draco's things. His face fell to seriousness as it folded the coat over one arm. "I have a plate of dinner warming for you in the oven; but first, I believe, you will wish to speak with Madame Parkinson."

Draco looked down at the elf, curious. He felt his heart plummet to his shoes. "What do you mean? Pansy's mother? Why?"

Shackleton looked up at him, equally concerned.

"She's been flooing for you most of the day. The woman demanded I notify her and you immediately once you'd arrived home. I've already told her you just got in."

Draco didn't think it was possible for his heart to fall any farther, but it did. Straight through the floor. He stared at the poor house elf, bewildered.

"What is it? What does she want?" He let out a shaky laugh. "Has Pansy been telling stories on me again?"

The elf shook his broad bald head sadly. "No, Sir. She wants to know where the mistress is and why she and the young master never arrived at her home this afternoon. I tried to tell her I did not know where you were or when you would return- she even said she had contacted the ministry, but they would not tell her anything-."

Draco didn't stay to hear the rest. He dropped his briefcase and raced down the hall to his study, grabbing too much floo powder in his haste and making a large mess of the carpet as he summoned the Brambles, Pansy's family home.

Seconds later, he was face to face with Mrs. Parkinson herself. The woman looked terrible- she'd obviously been crying and was worried sick. _Lord, not another one. _Draco wasn't sure he could handle another tearful woman in the same night. And this one about his own wife- he couldn't deny he was worried as well. His heart was pounding in his ears.

"Draco!" the woman shrieked when she saw his face, "Where is she? Do you know?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't- Ornella, I need you to calm down. You're certain they never stopped by- and Pansy told you earlier she would? No owls or anything like that?"

The woman shook her head at him, teary-eyed. "No, nothing. They were supposed to be here by three and never showed! Oh, Draco- you don't think-?"

"I don't know what to think," he replied. "I've already gotten some terrible news about the second accident today-," he paused, suddenly thoughtful. "Have you flooed all her friends? Isn't it possible she went to see one of them instead?"

The older woman looked at him scornfully. "And not have little Barclay home and in bed by-," she glanced at her clock, "ten at night? Of course not. But no, I haven't flooed them. You think I should?" she asked, looking at him hopefully.

"Yes," he replied, "I think you should." He paused as another thought struck him. "Ornella," he said slowly, scared of what the answer to his next question might be, "Did Pansy mention how she planned on getting there if she didn't have the car?"

The woman looked puzzled for a moment. "Why, by the underground, of course- you know she took it every chance she got, although why she did _I'll_ never understand- nasty thing, that muggle tube-." Her voice dropped off suddenly as realization dawned on her. "Oh, Draco," she murmured, her face pale, "what ever are we going to do?"

"Stay calm!" Draco barked at her. "Listen, I have to go now. Please contact her friends. I'm going to the ministry to see if I can find out anything. I'll contact you within the hour. _Don't go anywhere_," he warned her before pulling his head back from the flames and severing the connection.

He felt slightly dizzy from the impact of her words. Trust Pansy, today of all days, to insist on using a muggle contraption. He knew she only wanted to help Barclay- _Barclay._ His sense of urgency returned and he found himself on his feet again and running for the front door. _She never came home, she never made it to her mother's- and we both know she wouldn't have gone to a friend's without telling that woman first. She and her mother are best friends! _Oh, Merlin. _Oh, sweet Merlin. _

Draco snatched his coat from Shackleton's waiting arm.

"Are you leaving again, Sir?" The house elf's voice held a note of alarm. "What is wrong- is it the mistress?"

"I can't explain now- please keep an eye on the fire for Ornella or anyone else of importance. I'm going to the ministry for a while to see if I can get any more information," he said shortly as he shrugged into his coat. The elf nodded at him and Draco reached for the door handle.

A knock, as clear and loud as the tolling of a bell, sounded on the door. Through the glass, dimly, Draco could see two tall figures standing just outside.

His heart began beating faster in spite of the feeling that he was moving in slow motion. And he could've sworn that, although it had plummeted through his shoes earlier, it was now lodged firmly in his throat.

The knock sounded again. Draco didn't move.

"Shall I get it, Sir?" his elf asked quietly. After what felt like several long seconds, Draco shook his head and reached for the handle once more. He pulled the door open wide.

Two officers from the department of Magical Law Enforcement stood before him. One of them stepped forward, removing his hat . His face was long and his eyes filled with pity. Before he even spoke, Draco held up a hand to stop him.

Fighting back tears, he spoke. "Don't say it. Please, for the love of Merlin, _don't say it._ Just-," he straightened himself and looked the other man square in the face, eyes blinking furiously. "Just tell me what I need to do," he finished, his voice as steady as possible.

The two men gave one another a long look and then finally the one who'd stepped forward bowed his head and gestured to the squad car on the street below.

"If you'd come with us, Mr. Malfoy."

As dignified as he could, Draco took the proffered scarf from Shackleton before following the officers down the steps and to the car.

"Best not to mention this to Mrs. Parkinson," he murmured to the house elf. "I'll go directly from St. Mungo's to the Brambles to tell her myself."

The elf nodded and watched sadly as his master walked down the steps and into the night once more. He didn't close the door until he could no longer see the car heading up the street.

Life was cruel, it was. Those were Shackleton's sentiments as he dead bolted the door and then walked wearily up the hallway and into the kitchen. He wondered if the master would mind him having a nip of brandy. Thinking not, he poured himself a tall finger- he was fairly certain he needed it and even more certain the master would as well once he was back home.

It was turning out to be a cold night.

* * *


	11. Uncertainty

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_However long the night, the dawn will break.  
-African Proverb_

* * *

The morgue at St. Mungo's was exactly as he'd always imagined a morgue would be. It smelled funny, was cold, and the lighting was dim and creepy. It was an all around unpleasant experience, and he found himself wondering that they even bothered calling themselves a wizarding hospital. What was the point of having magic if one didn't use it to get rid of funny smells? 

He shook his head. He knew he was being foolish and frivolous. Blinking wearily, he looked back at the table in front of him. Back at the…well. He looked up.

"It's her."

The examiner nodded and covered the body up again, rolling it back into the storage drawer. When Draco didn't move, the other man looked at him strangely.

"You can go now," the man prodded him gently.

Draco stared at him. "Don't you- I mean, I thought there must be another-," he stopped short, floundering for words and feeling very out his element. Really, he didn't see why he should have to talk at all- he'd just had to identify the body of his _wife_. Couldn't these people _see _how he'd be feeling awkward and out of sorts at the moment?

In fact, the examiner was thinking that exact thing. _Poor fellow, he's still in shock. I can tell he wants to lose it all over the floor right now- not that I blame him, the body was rather in a bad way. Nasty accident that was, this afternoon. Trains colliding- yes, it was a nasty business. Poor man needs to just go home and rest for a bit. Maybe get very drunk. That's what I would do if I had to see _my _wife that way._

Draco looked at the now closed drawer almost longingly. He couldn't bring himself to think about how he was feeling. And now this man didn't know what he was on about…Merlin.

"What I mean is, there's another body, right? My-," he was stopped this time by the examiner.

"Oh, no, Mr. Malfoy! This was it. You can go home now. I'm sure your son will be needing you," he finished softly, leading Draco towards the door.

"You mean- you mean you don't have him here? Barclay's body wasn't found? A little boy about six, only a meter high, pale blond hair-."

Shocked, the other man looked at him over the tops of his glasses. "No, Mr. Malfoy. Didn't they tell you it was just your wife?"

Draco's face flushed at the memory and he felt tears sting his eyes. "No, I- they- I didn't want them to tell me. It- It made it less real, somehow," he finished in a hoarse whisper.

The examiner was quiet for a few moments while Draco searched his pockets desperately for a handkerchief.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, it _is _always possible that we do have your son's body here. We haven't finished tagging all the ones collected today yet- and they're gathering still more as we speak. But I suspect it's more likely that he's just not here," he finished gently.

Draco looked at him warily. "Then where could he possibly be? He was with his mother this afternoon- I just don't understand. I don't understand," he murmured to himself.

"Why not check the hospital records?" the man suggested. "There were a few survivors pulled from the wreckage. They'd be in Intensive Care, of course. I'd suggest you start there," the man said kindly, pity written clear upon his face.

Draco battled to keep the hope that sprang up in him under control. Barclay? Still alive? It seemed too much to ask. He'd just seen Pansy for the last time- the mother of his children, the keeper of his home, a woman he'd known most his life and loved for at least half of it- and now to hear that perhaps Barclay had _not _followed her to the grave…it _was_ too much to ask. Too much to hope for.

"I - well, thank you?" he said softly. He made a stiff movement towards the man as if to shake his hand, then turning away a abruptly and disappearing through the doors to go speak with the officers once more.

It was only well after he'd gone, when the examiner was working at yet another burn victim's corpse that he realized something. The description Malfoy had given him of his son- it fit perfectly with the little boy they'd found clinging to Potter's body when they'd unearthed him from all that debris. What had happened to the child, again? _Still alive, but barely_, he thought. _Should I send a message? _He looked wearily at the body before him. _No. No time. Too many bodies left. _Well, perhaps the officers would notify him. After all, it had been the only child to survive- that would narrow down Malfoy's search drastically.

He turned his attention back to the corpse and began sawing away once more.

* * *

Draco rushed through the quiet corridors of the upper floors of the hospital, stopping at every nurse's desk he saw to enquire about the patients upon that floor. No one had heard of his son being brought in- there had been a child found, one woman thought, but she couldn't recall what had happened to it. In the confusion and aftermath of that afternoon's accident- the ongoing trauma- files had been misplaced and further lives had been lost. 

Finally, after what seemed an eternity of searching the many storied building for the ghost of a chance that his son had survived, Draco leant up against a nearby wall. He'd just checked another station for information only to find none. The examiner's words rang in his mind.

_It is always possible that we do have your son's body here. We haven't finished tagging all the ones collected today yet-._

Groaning, he rested his head in his hands. He was sick of the incompetence. Their incessantly misplaced questions were beginning to infuriate him. _Had he checked with Intensive Care? _Of course he had! What did they take him for? But no one would let him into the unit because he wasn't _family. _Never mind that they might have his son in there- since they hadn't been able to identify the boy as his, they wouldn't let him in to see him at all! It was reprehensible! Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, weary and head aching.

He checked the clock on the wall. How much longer would he have to deal with this incompetency? Would he have to pull rank just to get in to see the boy? _Sir, once we've identified the child, we'll let you know. But we can't have anyone contaminating the wing at the moment, _one doctor had murmured. Draco tried to keep his boiling anger under control.

It was too late for any more of this. He needed to go see Pansy's mother. He needed to tell her what he _did _know. She deserved that much. Well. The hospital had his information. There was nothing more to be done. And he'd promised to contact Ornella within the hour- but it was already past midnight.

Glancing longingly back in the direction of the Intensive Care wing, he paused. Pansy would never have stood for this kind of treatment. _If she had been here, right now, she would have demanded they let her in to see if the boy was hers. She wouldn't be leaving without seeing if her son was lying alone in a hospital bed. _

He sighed and turned away, heading for the exit.

But Pansy wasn't there- not alive, anyhow- and Draco had always known he was a bit of a coward. In some ways, he didn't want to see who it was lying in the bed. If it wasn't Barclay, he thought he might lose it completely…and it was getting harder and harder to hold it together.

Hailing a cab on the cold, dark streets of London, he slid into the back seat.

"The Brambles, about ten miles northeast of Havering," he murmured, passing a hand over his eyes.

"And why do you want to go all the way out there this late?" the driver asked him.

Draco choked back the tears that threatened and instead stared out the window, only shaking his head.

The driver's eyes dropped back to the road and he didn't ask any more questions as they sped out of London and into the countryside. He could read the signs as well as anyone. He'd ferried more than his fair share of bereaved family members in the last few weeks and knew that speed was more important than talk in cases like this.

The night went on with no sign of breaking.

* * *

Neville looked at George closely as the other man got up fro another mug of coffee. 

"George, we don't mind if you take the guest room, really. You don't have to stay all night." He paused, "You don't have to stay _up _all night."

The red-haired man shrugged, taking a long sip. "It doesn't matter, really. I wouldn't sleep much anyhow."

Neville nodded before sitting back down to the couch, his laptop before him on the coffee table. He, like so many other wizards since the war had ended, had long ago begun using muggle technology for his work. He found it easier to write his books himself than using those ridiculous enchanted quills. Those things were dangerous, they were. They could too easily misquote him. He returned to tapping at his keys.

"Hermione will be alright, you know," he murmured from his seat.

George hid a snort and turned back to the window. Ginny had gone to bed hours ago. It had begun raining soon after. He wondered if Draco had gotten home alright. "We only hope she will. She's my second, Neville. My best girl. I owe it to her to stay," he responded quietly.

"There's nothing else you can do at this point," Neville pointed out.

"Nothing _obvious_ maybe," George shot back. The other man was quiet again for a while. George started to feel bad. He hadn't meant to snap- but they were all under a lot of stress.

"Neville, I pulled some strings. I have an appointment with the Minister as soon as she steps foot back in England."

Neville looked up at him. "How did you manage that? Harry- _Harry_ _Potter_, George- died this afternoon and they wouldn't even let me send an owl to Hogwarts! It's perfectly- It's horrendous, what they've done."

George glanced at him, eyes dark and veiled. "And what are you going to do about it, Nev? Write another tell all? A special investigative report?"

The other man bristled. "I might," he grumbled.

His older friend laughed. "They'll never let you publish it."

"We'll see," Neville murmured, returning to his typing. "The Quibbler would publish it."

"Oh, right. You're never posted anything in that paper."

"Maybe I will for once, if it helps the truth get out!"

George sat back at the other man's tone. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry," he said quietly, returning his gaze to the window.

After several moments, Neville spoke again. "You'll have to leave her to go to work, George."

"I know," the older man returned sadly. "You'll be here."

Neville nodded. His expression changed subtly. "George…are you-?" he didn't get out the rest of his question. George looked back sharply and interrupted him.

"Her friend, Neville. _I am her friend._" He paused, searching for words. "She's going to need us very much. When Ron died-," now it was his turn to be silent. After a few seconds he continued, "She was there for all of us, in spite of her personal grief. Now it's my turn." He let out a self deprecating laugh. "Besides, I can't solve this case without her, I'm afraid."

* * *

As the cab pulled up to the gate outside the Brambles, Draco could see the first grey shades of dawn uselessly pilling up in the Eastern sky. 

"Right here, thanks," he mumbled, tossing some bills at the driver. He didn't stop to count them and the driver didn't say a word as he pulled away and sped back towards London.

Weary, frightened and trembling, Draco opened the small front gate and made his way up the path towards the house.

The door opened wide, a dim swath of light bathing himself and the front yard before he even reached the front door.

"Draco!" a voice called. He shivered. She'd sounded so much like her mother. He'd forgotten how much. The slim woman with silver hair stood in the doorway, blocking the light, arms clasped across her breast.

He couldn't do it.

He suddenly could _not _do it. He couldn't tell this woman her daughter, his wife, was gone and that he didn't even know if her grandchild- the surviving one- was still alive. She'd lost her husband in the last war- how could he tell her didn't even know if she had any relatives left at all?

In those early morning hours, on the front porch of his wife's childhood home, Draco Malfoy lost himself.

Ornella Parkinson hurried out the door to her son-in-law's crumpled, weeping body and threw her arms about him, tears streaming down her own face.

"Oh, no, my boy. No, Draco. Please. Come inside. Tell me about it- shhh, you're okay. You're okay," she murmured as her arms, surprisingly strong for her age, hefted him up and into the house. She was used to death now. It never got any easier, but she was used to it and by Merlin, she refused to let this last connection to her little girl- this boy whom she loved like a son- fall apart _now. _Not when she needed him.

One arm still about Draco, she closed the door and darkness fell around the cottage once more.

The dawn continued on its relentless path across the night sky. The night was finally breaking to reveal an unsavory and unbearable tomorrow.

* * *

**To _mofo_: Oh, yeah. I'm getting around to it. Not for a few more chapters, but she'll remember it eventually. So will he- although not that bit, of course, the other bit. Remember the pictures that got taken? **


	12. Grief and Purpose

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_The walls we build around us to keep out the sadness also keep out the joy.  
-Jim Rohn_

* * *

That morning was dreary. It felt as though the sun hadn't come out for days. A soft rain beat against the windowpanes of London's homes and businesses and a layer of grey clouds covered the surrounding sky for miles.

Hermione rolled over and felt to her side for Harry. She could tell a dim light was filtering into the room- it couldn't be that late. Surely it wasn't time to go to the office yet. Where was her husband? Had he pulled another full night of work?

Oh- that was right. He'd needed to work on that case. _The case!_

Hermione suddenly sat bolt up right in the tiny bed, startled from sleep by the urgent need to research. She blinked and rubbed her eyes once, confused by her surroundings.

Where on earth was she? Had she stayed overnight at Hogwarts? No, that couldn't be right…she put one hand to her head, rubbing her temple. Her head ached _terribly_. She thought she remembered Draco asking McGonagall to remove the books from Hogwarts- _oh._

Oh, no. A sob rose to her lips unbidden and Hermione drew her legs up, clasping her knees to her chest. She continued to rub furiously at her brow. _No. None of that, now. Where is Viola? Find your daughter. You need to talk to her. You need to tell her._

Gasping, she drew in a long, shaky breath and threw the covers back. It was as far as she got for several more minutes. It seemed her legs were unsteady. Whether it was from spending the night in a bed that was far too short or from the trials of yesterday- _who am I kidding, this feeling is going to last years_- she wasn't completely sure.

Then again, she wasn't sure she cared much, either. At the moment, everything, _every bone and muscle in her body_, hurt and she didn't have the strength to pay very close attention. All she could do was to try and block every emotion she'd ever had, in an effort to keep it together. Perhaps telling Viola would need to wait a few minutes more.

The door to the room creaked open and a little red haired boy peeked his head in. He had his father's blue eyes, but otherwise perfectly resembled any one of his uncles.

"Aunty Hermny?"

Hermione stopped rubbing and tried to smile. She didn't succeed.

The little boy wandered over. "Viol is looking for you," he said and picked up one of her hands, giving it a little tug.

"Is she?" she sniffed, wiping her face with her free hand. "And how are-," she paused, blinking fiercely. "And how are you, Ronald?"

Her godson and unofficial nephew generally went by Ronald, never Ron. Sometimes Hermione thought it was because Ginny found it too hurtful to call him by his late uncle's nickname. She turned this thought over a few times as she reached out a hand to brush the hair back from the boy's forehead. He smiled up at her and pulled his head away, giving it a good shake.

"I'm good. Mummy made waffles! Uncle George ate most of yours," he said, furrowing his brow. "I tried to stop him."

"That's alright, Ronald," Hermione murmured, pulling her hands back and standing up. She focused on straightening the bed clothes. "I'm not very hungry," she finished quietly before turning to face the little boy once more. He reached for her hand again and she let him take it, leading her out the door and down the stairs.

"Mummy is asking for you too," he informed her as they headed towards the kitchen.

Hermione could only nod. She felt somewhat foolish that she was being led about by a child, but she was sure it was a passing feeling. After all, she'd just lost her husband- foolish was the least of what she was feeling, or _wanted _to be feeling.

She didn't really care if an orangutan led her around; as long as she didn't have to think, she was okay with it.

Shuffling into the kitchen after Ronald, she smelled waffles being cooked and could only assume that Ginny was making more since George had apparently eaten so many. Looking up, she could see the slim red headed witch standing at the counter, her back to the room. She was looking out the window, apparently lost in thought. There was an expression of such _longing _on her face that Hermione almost lost it again. Ronald's wild shouting roused her, saving her the embarrassment.

"Mummy! I got Aunty Hermny for you! She said she doesn't care Uncle George ate her waffles," he added, running to his mother and wrapping his arms about her legs.

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed, one hand ruffling Ronald's hair. "Thank you, Ronald- go on and make sure your cousin is okay, alright?"

The little boy nodded and ran out of the room once more. Hermione looked after him a moment and then sank down onto a seat at the island. Ginny almost immediately slid a waffle onto the plate before her. She stared at it for a few seconds before pushing the plate away.

"Thank you, Ginny. I'm not-."

"Not hungry? I know. It was worth a try," the other woman murmured, removing the plate. "As long as you eat at some point."

Hermione propped her elbows on the counter and rested her head in her hands. "What am I doing up? What am I even doing alive, Ginny?"

Ginny looked at her, concerned. "You're taking care of your little girl, Hermione. And helping George and Malfoy solve this bloody case so you can get some justice-."

"Justice? _Justice_? When no one else in the bloody ministry seems to care? Why was it that no one notified me? Why was it you had to fly for hours in terrible weather to tell me my _husband_ was-." She stopped, unable to complete the sentence. "It seems kind of pointless," she finished.

Ginny dropped the bowl of batter into the sink with a large crash. "You don't mean that right now, Hermione," she muttered. When the other woman began to protest, she ruthlessly ripped the waffle iron's plug from the wall and practically threw it into the sink. Her wand deposited the rest of the dishes into the same location with an equally unnecessary amount of noise.

Hermione sat back, staring at Ginny with wide eyes, startled from her self-pitying reverie. Her friend was standing over the sink, back to her, arms stiff and hands gripping the edge of the countertop. Hermione could see she was trembling. Without turning around, she spoke.

"How can there not be a point?" the red haired witch murmured, half to herself. "There's _every_ point!" She whipped about, staring at her scared and grieving friend. "You still have to figure out how to stop it- you can save lives! Even if the one that you cared most about isn't- even if…he isn't-." Now it was Ginny's turn to bury her face in her hands.

Hermione simply sat and returned her stare. She didn't know what to think or how to act. She wasn't even sure if she could feel much of anything at all in that moment. It was far easier to let Ginny get angry and upset for her than to feel anything herself.

Ginny finally looked back up at her. "I'm sorry, Hermione. Please don't mind me. I'm just out of sorts. George insisted on staying over last night and Neville doesn't think it's a good idea to take the kids to school today _or _for me to go to practice- not that I could apparate there anyhow- and now George has also decided I tell Mum and the others-," she paused for breath and turned back around, flicking her wand and filling the sink.

"Never mind. I'm just a little overwhelmed. The only way for me to get to practice today is by flying and I'm still tired from yesterday. Today is simply _not _my day," she muttered, ferociously scrubbing at the waffle iron. "It's not _anyone's _day," she finished in a very small voice.

"I can stay," Hermione offered. "I can help around the house. And I'll tell Molly for you. It's really my job anyhow."

"No, no, that's not- you need to just rest…why don't you go home? You and Viola can use some alone time, I'm sure-."

"No," Hermione replied quietly, interrupting her. "I can't go home yet. Please, let me stay and make myself useful, Ginny. I'll go back to the office tomorrow…for now, I just want to-," she paused, floundering for words. "I just want to keep busy," she finished lamely, shrugging her petite shoulders.

Ginny looked at her carefully. "Fine. But if you stay under my roof, you eat something," she ordered as gently as she could.

Hermione cracked a weak smile. "Sure. Sure, Ginny."

* * *

Across London, deep in the heart of the Ministry, an interdepartmental memo had just landed on George's desk. He picked it up hesitantly. Who could be messaging him that early?

Ah. Percy.

He snorted and balled the memo up before he'd even finished reading it. That insufferable son of a bi- well, no use thinking that. She was his mum too, after all. George stood up, a look of determination passing over his face. He really thought it was high time he stood up to his brother- the fact that he had an appointment scheduled to see the minister helped his confidence a bit as well.

That and he was as angry as a Norwegian Ridgeback in mating season. How dare Percy? How _dare _he, after all of George's pleading and warnings, sit back in his comfortable, muggle swivel chair; in his cushy office; in his cushy vice ministerial position; and tell him, _him, _George Weasley- his own brilliant, _intelligent_ brother- that he was completely wrong and needed to hush it up a bit?! And even now, after the death of one of the greatest wizards of their time, he still insisted on secrecy and quiet! _HOW DARE HE?_

It was really too much, this time.

George stalked from his office. Percy wouldn't know what hit him this time, aside from the fact that it would be George's fist- in his face.

George decided he was _quite _looking forward to it.

* * *

Draco woke up disoriented. He tried to lift his head and look around only to find that his eyes were crusted shut with sleep. He rubbed at them gently a moment. Unlike Hermione, aside from the slight disorientation, he had _not _momentarily forgotten where he was or why.

In fact, he remembered quite clearly, much to his disappointment. He'd almost been hoping for the miracle of waking up only to discover that he'd been having nightmares.

Horrific, detestable nightmares, granted, in which his wife's body was partially charred…practically severed in- _stop it_, he told himself. _That won't do you any good._

Merlin, but he was tired.

A footstep sounded in the hall and Draco sat up from the guest bed, swiftly rising and dressing. He opened the door to the bedroom in time to see Ornella passing down the stairs. She turned at the sound and looked back at him.

"You're up." It was a statement, not a question, and there was no hint of a 'good morning' in it, although a small, weak smile graced her lips. He nodded at her and she gestured downstairs.

"Please, come have something before you leave. I know you must be anxious to get into the city- especially if there's any news on Barclay."

Draco nodded again and picked up his shoes before following her. There was no need for words between them. They'd said all they needed to the night before and in the grey light of morning the rest of the niceties seemed frivolous and not worth wasting breath on.

He was suddenly glad for Ornella Parkinson. She was a strong woman; maybe not the best of women, but a strong one. He needed strong women in his life.

Now, over morning coffee and toast, Draco could see that she _was_ glad to see him awake. She'd been glad to see him last night, as well, in spite of the grim tidings he'd brought with him.

No, there was no need for words between them. The bond they shared over Pansy was more than enough connection to warrant the silence they both felt- too deeplyperhaps. It was just as well. Draco didn't think he'd be able to manage much speaking without the possibility of breaking down as well.

Fifteen minutes later, Draco was hugging the older woman goodbye with a promise of speaking again later in the day.

He stepped into the fireplace and was gone in a flash of light. Ornella stood gazing at the spot where he'd been standing longingly. Then it was her turn to walk back to the small kitchen and sit at the table, enjoying- as if she could enjoy anything on _this _morning- another cup of tea.

The tears only fell when she was sure she was alone. Being strong for men always had a price…it usually meant grieving alone. She didn't mind it, really. She preferred others not to see her grief. It was private and her very own; and it was all she had left of her family and she had no desire to share it with the world.

Silence met her weeping welcomingly. The house was used to her tears.

* * *

Draco walked slowly down the hallway towards his department. He hadn't bothered to stop at his town home- he'd just wanted to get to the office as quickly as possible. And now that he was here, well. He just couldn't seem to pick up his feet and _move_. He knew he looked like crap- wrinkled shirt, creased tie, muddied shoes. He simply didn't care. He had other priorities to attend to at the moment.

If he'd stopped to consider it, it might have been amusing. Fashion and grooming taking a back seat in his life? Never. Even when he was going through the earlier troubles of the war and after, he'd never neglected his personal appearance. But now he was a single parent- _if Barclay's even out there_- and for the first time in his life, he had no desire to consider the virtues of _clothing _over the virtues of making sure his son was still alive.

A sudden movement ahead of him caught his eye and he looked up, curious. He saw the man with red hair come striding forcefully from a pair of departmental doors. His eyes brightened a bit.

"George?" he croaked out. The man jerked a bit and then turned around.

"Malfoy!" he called. George rushed forward. "You're just in time. I'm about to go remove Percy's head for him. Care to watch?"

Draco shook his head. He tried to speak, but found he could only shrug helplessly.

George's face fell instantly. "Oh, no. Not-?"

He refused to meet Weasley's eyes and instead stared down the hallway past him, nodding slowly.

"Pansy," he murmured. "Got called in last night."

"Merlin, Draco! I'm sorry…I can't tell you how sorry I am." George paused. "Er, shouldn't you be with your boy right now?"

Draco finally lifted his eyes to George's, his pain visible upon his face. "I don't know, Weasley. I don't know and St. Mungo's won't tell me anything." He took a deep breath and his shoulders slumped further. "I spent last night with her mother and there still hasn't been any word. I couldn't just take the day off. My people need me right now, more than ever." He shrugged again and smiled apologetically. "Besides, I think Pansy-," Draco struggled with words for a moment, "_She_ wouldn't want me sitting around doing nothing if our son is still out there."

George looked at him carefully. "If you need me to pull some strings for you-," he offered. He knew, as did everyone else at the ministry, that those who worked in Muggle Relations were a kind of half breed, the _persona non gratae _in the bureaucracy of wizarding England. Assigned to the department because of past misdeeds or family names, they weren't given the same kind of leeway and consideration that other ministry workers were given. In fact, George was pretty sure that even the custodial staff were given more perks than Muggle Relations. So, it didn't entirely surprise him to hear that Draco wasn't getting help from anyone concerning his family.

It didn't surprise him, but it did serve to make him even angrier. Here was a man- a _good _man- who, despite his past, had been working almost nonstop since his appointment to head five years ago to build and stabilize the department. Draco had pulled together a failing department and demoralized people and helped them _care _about something again. And now, with his wife only passed away yesterday, he was back into work with no hope of finding his son.

George put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Malfoy- _Draco_-," he began, "come with me. I'm about to go see Percy and after that I have an appointment with the minister. It's just possible that between the two of us, we can get Mungo's to listen to reason. Eh?"

Draco looked at him nervously, his face pale. "Do you think they'll pay any attention to me? After all I've done?"

Scoffing, George gave his shoulder a squeeze. "What haven't you done for them? You've been a driving force in your department for years now. If it weren't for you, they wouldn't have _anyone _taking care of their messes for them. Now come on. Did you ever consider that they might pay more attention if you showed a little more of the old Malfoy?"

Draco smirked. He couldn't help it; it rose to his lips quite unexpectedly and he suddenly remembered how hard he'd fought for Pansy- for their marriage, for their sons. The truth of George's words struck him. He may have lost his wife and he didn't know if he'd lost his son or not, but he couldn't lose himself. Not now. There was too much at stake. He looked to George again and gave a terse nod.

"Alright. Lead the way."

George smiled at him and put his arm about the other man's shoulders. Although the circumstances were less- _far_ less- than ideal, he thought there was a possibility he and Draco Malfoy might just be something one could call friends, now. The thought lifted his spirits a bit and the two men headed for Percy's office without ceremony and renewed purpose.

* * *

Hermione looked around the study and ran her dust cloth along the fireplace's mantle one last time. She could've used her wand and gotten all the work done in half the time, but it had helped calm her considerably, this manual work. The activity kept her mind occupied- she'd been able to avoid telling Viola the news for hours now.

Ginny had relented and had even gone to Hermione and- and- _Harry's _flat to pack a few things for her. But she'd insisted that if Hermione was going to stay, she needed to take care of herself _and _her little girl. That meant telling Viola.

That was three hours ago. Hermione had gone into the living room to talk to Viola- she'd meant to tell her the truth then, she really had! But she'd been sitting there on the floor, playing with Ronald, her black curls bouncing about with a life of their own, her face happy, smiling…Hermione found she couldn't say a word. She'd simply turned around and walked back out.

She'd be taking her to The Burrow later on anyway, where she'd be talking to Molly about it. _I'll tell her once we've left. _She didn't feel good about that- leaving her daughter so soon after telling her she'd never see her daddy again- but she also didn't know what help there was for it. Harry wasn't coming back. She had to make funeral arrangements, figure out what to do about the flat, and continue to research the case. As much as she wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep for days, she didn't have that luxury. There was no time to grieve right now.

_And after everything is over? Will there be time to grieve then, or will the opportunity have passed? Will I ever get to see his face again before he leaves us forever? Did he leave us knowing how much I loved him and only him? _

Before she knew it, tears were running down her cheeks. She gripped the mantle tightly and forced herself to stay upright. No, now was not the time to collapse. She stifled a sob with one hand and turned around slowly, feeling for a chair.

"Mummy?" came a small, but bright voice. Hermione turned to look at her little girl's face. Viola's eyes squinted at her mother in confusion.

"What's the matter?" the small girl asked again, walking closer. Hermione sat down and reached out her hands to her daughter. It seemed that she didn't even have the time to prepare herself for the inevitable.

"Come here, darling," Hermione murmured through her tears, using one hand to wipe her cheeks dry. "Mummy has something to tell you."

Eyes wide and full of innocent faith, Viola walked forward and pulled herself onto her mother's lap. She saw her mother crying, saw her struggling to speak. She blinked and then screwed up her own eyes. She looked about the room and then back up at her mother. Something wasn't right. Usually, when something _big _was happening, her mother and father told her together. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Where's Daddy?"

Hermione stared at her little girl, emotions racing across her face in a wave of confusion. Then she drew her arms around Viola and pulled her close, hugging her tightly. It seemed her daughter had somehow inherited her husband's uncanny instincts. She rocked her daughter under her chin and spoke in soft tones, suddenly very sure of what she needed to say.

"Viola, Daddy isn't coming home anymore."

Her daughter looked up at her, her eyes still screwed up, telltale signs of wetness hanging on the fringe of her lashes. Hermione held her even closer.

"Daddy had to go to work yesterday on a very important job. It was _so _important that he couldn't leave." She paused, unsure of how to make it clear. "He loved us both very, very much, Viola. He loved _you_- but he can't come back to us ever again."

A few minutes went by as Viola tried to understand what her mother was telling her. Hermione knew she was young, perhaps too young, to understand what was happening. But she was smart, too, and had been _their _daughter, truly. Viola's grip on her mother's blouse tightened.

"Mummy-," she began, but was unable to finish. She didn't know what she wanted to say.

Hermione looked down at her and nodded sadly. "It's just the two of us now, Vi," she murmured. "Daddy will _always _be with us in our hearts and minds. But your father passed away yesterday because of his very important job and we won't be seeing him again. It's not your fault, or my fault, or his fault. Just remember that."

With those words, she drew her girl, her precious baby girl, closer to her and curled her arms about her protectively. She could hear Viola sniffling softly into her shirt, but she just rocked her back and forth and stared out into the room. Hermione couldn't look into that face now. She didn't want to see Harry's eyes staring back at her so sadly, so confused.

She didn't know how else to comfort her fatherless little girl.

* * *

**To _Ana Diaz: _Thanks so much! There will be information on Barclay next chapter. **

**To _mofo_: Thank you! Yeah, it was hard to write those scenes because they were happy; but I feel that's what will make Hr/D's connection in the future even more powerful than it ever was. Yes, this is a very different story and in many ways is more difficult to write. It will be interesting to maintain the loss while at the same time building up towards a future and happy ending.**

**To _Sam_: Thanks! I'll try to hurry, but no promises. **

**To _Ashley: _I'm sorry it affected you so badly; but I am always trying to create believable feelings and to make connections with the readers, so in a way that's a big compliment! Yes, eventually this story will have a happy ending, but there is a lot of suffering involved. My feelings won't be hurt if you have to skip it. **


	13. Stages and Unpleasantness

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling. **

* * *

_I can breathe and I can move, but I'm not alive because I took that poison and nothing can save me._

_-Frank Bigelow: D.O.A._

* * *

Percy must have heard their steps thundering down the hall outside his door, because when they entered the small antechamber to the minister's offices, he was already there: standing, arms across his chest, a pained but firm look upon his face. 

George stopped short upon seeing his brother, but bared his teeth just the same.

"Percy!" he roared.

His brother shook his head. "Did you expect me to just sit there and take it quietly while you berated me for being the cause of hundreds of deaths? What did you expect to see, George? Me sitting there behind my crowded desk, humming and eating- oh, _bonbons_?"

"You have explaining to do, brother," George managed to say calmly enough, though his jaw was clenched tight with anger.

Draco stood just behind the older man and watched as he faced off with his older, classicist brother. He had to admit, it looked as though Percy had a point. The desk behind him was crowded with papers and books and other assorted materials. It looked as though he hadn't left his office in days, and an _at least _two day old beard was creeping up about the man's chin. He stepped forward, knowing full well that if this continued, George wouldn't be able to keep his temper in check…and bruised jaws and black eyes never pulled favors in the ministry. Those bullying tactics were something he'd had to leave behind at Hogwarts. No, finding Barclay was more important to him at the moment than placing blame.

"Shut it, George," he murmured, shouldering his way past the red head to stand before the Vice Minister of Magic. He spread his hands out. "Look, Weasley, I've had all I can take of this mess. In addition to Potter-," he choked a little on the words, "_being dead_, my wife joined him yesterday and I need to find out where my little boy is. Now, we can argue later about whose damn fault this is, but right now I only care about one thing."

Percy's face softened, if it was possible, and he gazed at Draco sadly. "I know about your wife, Malfoy," he replied as gently as possible. Draco checked his anger. _There must be an explanation- don't blow this now, man. You have to find Barclay. _

"I got the _tentatively _final list early this morning. It's at least fifty pages long." The older Weasley's face fell. "Small print. Malfoy, you're more than welcome to look through it. If you don't find the name you're looking for, then we'll check with Mungo's. Is that better?"

Draco nodded tersely. Behind him, George growled. "This doesn't let you off the hook completely, you piece of-."

Percy's eyes narrowed. Draco threw an arm back, hitting George in the chest. The other man grunted and doubled over. _Sorry_, he mouthed to his friend. George glared at him.

Percy reached a hand to his head and sighed, scratching at his stubble thoughtfully. "Fine. Follow me. You'll get to see the minister in another hour or so. I'll help you look through the list if you'll help me figure what on earth I'm going to tell her about all this."

George straightened up and stared at his brother with narrowed eyes. "Percy Ignatius Weasley," he began in a low voice, "you will tell her _exactly _what happened and why. I'll _personally _help you with that. And you will take full responsibility for this tragedy, because if you hadn't been so insistent that nothing was wrong, we might have been able to put a stop to this earlier, or at the very least worked to evacuate trouble spots."

Percy tried to speak, but George reached past Draco's shoulder to grasp his brother by the shirt front. He hauled him past the other man and brought him close. Percy didn't bother to struggle. His eyes were dull and bleary and it was obvious he felt responsible enough already…but George didn't stop.

"You _knew_, you sick, selfish, son of a bitch, and you didn't lift a finger! I don't give a damn what kind of excuses you have- that's all they are, excuses! You're the Vice Minister, for Merlin's sake! You could have over-ridden every rule, every law, especially as the minister left you in charge. But you decided to not listen to two of your best men- one of them your own brother- and instead jeopardized the lives of hundreds of thousands of Londoners!"

Percy seemed to shudder and George dragged him even closer. "What do you think, Perce? Do you think Mum and Dad are as likely to forgive you this lapse in judgment as they were during the war? Shall we find out after a bit, eh?"

George gave his brother one good shake and then put him back against a wall, one arm pressed firm upon his chest. "Just stay out of our way for a while, right? Until you're willing to listen to reason, stay the _fuck_ out of my way." He finished and let his brother go, stalking past Draco and into the office.

Draco looked once at Percy, who was leaning against the wall, staring down at the floor. He felt a twinge of something that might be called pity, but he quickly forgot it. There was no time for wasted emotions now. Then he turned and carefully followed George into the abyss of bureaucracy.

* * *

Hermione sat with Viola for what felt like hours. Her words had finally gotten through to the girl, who now sat quietly crying in her mother's arms. She hadn't screamed or thrown a tantrum- she'd taken it better- _or maybe this is worse_- than Hermione had expected her to, and for that she was grateful. Although at this point it might have been easier to get angry, she found that she didn't want to be mad at him. It wasn't his fault he was gone. It was the ministry's fault. 

Yes, it was far easier to be angry at a faceless entity than to be mad at the husband she had loved so dearly.

For now, however, she was content to sit and hold her daughter as she cried and worry about what on _earth _she was going to do next. Of course, she had to see this case through. The devastation the collapsing of the wards had caused was beyond anything she had seen during the war. At least then, their enemy had been a person- now, despite the fact that several people were at fault, the real enemy was the magic. She had to keep researching and find out if there was something, some _way_, of fixing them before it was too late.

A shadow fell across her and she glanced up. It was Neville. His eyes took in Viola and he stepped back.

"I'm sorry, Hermione- would you like me to leave?"

She shook her head. "No, it's alright. We were just…taking a moment."

He nodded in understanding. "You ought to. Ginny said she doesn't know when you'll have another chance to stop and _think_." He paused, considering. "She also said you asked to stay for a while. It's fine with me. Ronald will be glad to have her about."

Hermione smiled sadly. "Thanks, but I think I'd rather take her to The Burrow like we'd planned. Molly loves her like a granddaughter and to be honest, I don't think it'll be good for her to be around me the next few weeks or so. I'm going to be so busy-." She stopped and looked down at Viola, whose tears had lessened to sniffles. Her daughter looked back up at her.

"Grandma Weasley is going to take care of me?" she asked suddenly, hiccupping a little.

"That's right. I'm going to take you there in a little while. Would you like that?"

She screwed up her face again. "You're not coming too, Mummy?"

Hermione chewed on her lip a bit, unsure of what to tell her. "Well…I have a lot of things to take care right now. Important things."

Viola's face fell immediately and she let out a small, "Oh." Hermione gasped when she realized what she'd said.

"Oh, no, sweetheart! I didn't mean that. They aren't that important. In fact, I promise to come and see you everyday, okay? And as soon as I'm able to, I'll come and get you and we'll go back home."

Her daughter stared at her uncertainly for several minutes before finally speaking again. "You have to promise," she declared. Her bright green eyes challenged her mother to defy her.

Hermione smiled at her softly. "I promise. I won't leave you all alone, darling," she murmured, bringing her lips to her daughter's forehead. "Now go get your things, alright?"

Viola nodded once and slid from her mum's lap before walking from the room. Hermione turned her attention to Neville and the two began talking in hushed tones. The four year old paused at the door and turned around to watch them for a moment.

If she squinted hard enough, she could almost imagine that Uncle Neville's brown hair was black and that it was her daddy sitting across from Mummy right then. Talking quietly about all their _important _things. Planning her next birthday party or outing. Telling each other how happy they were to have such a pretty and smart and _bright _girl for a daughter.

Telling each other how much they loved one another…how much they loved _her_.

Tears filled her eyes again and she brought an arm up, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. Then she turned and wandered away down the hall.

* * *

Draco wasn't halfway through the list of names when the door to the minister's office opened and a tall, stately woman walked out. She stood taking in the sight for a moment: George interrogating Percy for possible information sources; Draco propped up against a bookshelf riffling through a stack of papers. She raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow and spoke. 

"Mr. Weasley, I believe you and I have an appointment. Would your brother care to join us?"

George glanced up and stood immediately. Percy continued to look thoroughly ashamed. "Yes, Minister Dearborn. The Vice Minister has some things he wishes to speak with you about as well, if you don't mind."

Her stiff face collapsed into a gracious smile. The lines about her mouth made the circles under her eyes more obvious and Draco could suddenly see how very tired the woman must be.

"Of course. Please come in. Mr. Malfoy, will you excuse us for a moment?"

Draco beat back a smirk. _A moment_? She was crazy if she seriously thought the meeting wasn't going to take very long. He nodded.

"Please, go ahead. I have work I need to do."

He watched coolly as the woman ushered George and Percy into her office and closed the door behind them. Then he went back to his list of names. A part of him definitely did not want to find his son's name on that paper, but the rest of him desperately wanted his search to be over. He groaned and propped his head up with one hand as he continued to flip pages and pages of tiny print. Not alphabetically ordered.

_Barclay, where are you? _was the question he kept asking himself.

* * *

Hermione hefted her daughter in her arms and accepted one last hug from Ginny. 

"Are you sure you don't want me to help carry something?" her friend kept asking her, eyes anxious.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I'm fine, honest."

"But it's only a short floo- and I know Mum would love to see me. I could even take Ronald over to stay with her, too. Keep Vi company. You'd like that?" she asked, turning to the little girl in Hermione's arms.

Viola began to nod enthusiastically, but looked at her mummy first. Her eyes were wide and still wet with the remainder of her morning tears. Hermione's face softened and she finally shrugged, hugging Viola close.

"Fine, fine- you win, Ginny." The redheaded woman smiled and almost laughed. She turned away.

"Ronald! Go get your bag- you're going to visit Grandmum and Granddad with Viola!"

No sooner were the words out of her mouth then there came a pounding of small feet upon the stairs. Hermione halfheartedly glared at Ginny.

"Ginerva Weasley, you planned this!" she accused. Her friend only smiled.

"Of course I did. And now we'll all be a little happier," she concluded. Her son came running into the living room, hauling a small bag behind him.

"I'm ready!" he announced, looking up to the adults expectantly. Ginny picked him up.

"Got a tight hold of your bag?" The little boy nodded his head vigorously and Hermione turned towards the fireplace.

"Hold on tight, Viola," she murmured to her daughter, who crept her arms about her mother's neck more tightly. Hermione grabbed a handful of floo powder and called out for The Burrow.

* * *

Seconds later, she was stepping from Molly Weasley's fireplace. Viola clung to her, letting out small coughs. It was only the girl's second time flooing and she was fairly sure she didn't like it very much. Hermione placed a hand to her daughter's head, smoothing the hair back from her face. 

"Shh, darling. We're here. No more nasty soot."

"Hermione? Hermione, oh, my dear, you're here!"

She looked up to see Molly entering from the kitchen. The older woman came towards her and Hermione moved forward to make space for Ginny.

"Hello, Molly," she said tiredly. Molly Weasley stopped short.

"Hermione," she said, more softly. She placed a hand on Hermione's arm and looked at her closely. A series of emotions passed over her face and Hermione was sure she could see tears in her eyes. The other woman pulled away somewhat. "Well, you're here now. Please, come sit down."

She looked to Viola. "And I suppose you're hungry? There are some fresh cookies in the kitchen, if you'd like one." She smiled kindly and Hermione set the little girl down. Viola asked a question quickly with her eyes before skirting around Molly and heading into the other room.

Hermione asked her own question. "Molly, what's going on? You're acting strange-."

The smile disappeared and Molly took Hermione's hand. "Why don't- why don't we sit down?"

Hermione let herself be led towards the sofa. She was more confused than ever and ready to launch more questions when Ginny arrived.

Molly looked toward the fireplace. "Ginny! I'm so glad to see you!" She stood and rushed over to her daughter and grandson, leaving Hermione on the couch. Ginny set Ronald, who was squirming madly, down and he raced for the kitchen as well, yelling something about cookies. Molly embraced Ginny, who looked over her mother's shoulder at Hermione helplessly. _I don't know what's going on either, _she seemed to say.

Hermione stood up. "Molly, what's going on? I can't stand not knowing, not after what happened yesterday-."

The older redhead woman let go of Ginny and turned around to face Hermione. She went back over to her and sat them down again.

"I already know, Hermione. Weren't you aware? I can't tell you how sorry I am- how sorry we all are- Percy flooed us last night; Arthur was asleep already; he got us out of bed to tell us, it was so late-."

Hermione felt her blood boil. Percy had told his parents? Oh, wait, of course he had. He lived at home still- the pinchpenny bugger- so _of_ _course_ he'd go crawling to his parents that way. Still, he'd actually taken that small ounce of control away from her? The ability to tell Harry's all but _adoptive_ parents that he- _her _husband, _hers_- that he was _dead _didn't even belong to her anymore. He'd stolen that _right _from her and why? Because he was afraid that if he didn't get to them first they'd hear her side of the story; the story where Harry was only dead because of Percy's incompetency; the story where she'd had to find out from Ginny _hours later_, who'd flown on _broomstick_ because _Percy _decided they couldn't bend the rules and send her _one owl._

She jerked away from Molly. "You knew? He told you? And I suppose he conveniently forgot to tell you that it's his fault half of London is disintegrating around us? That Harry died trying to clean up his mess?"

Molly pulled back, looking in confusion at Ginny, tears in her eyes, the blood draining from her face.

Hermione stood again. "There's no need to look to Ginny for validation, Molly- I'm right here. Have I ever lied to you? Have I ever denied the truth? How often has your own son betrayed you?! My god, that you would believe his word over mine? _Mine?_ He was my husband, Molly! Percy had no right to come sobbing to you about _my husband's _death, pretending to be the victim!"

Ginny walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hermione, this isn't good for you. I'm sure Mum believes you. There's no reason for her not to- we all know Percy's a git, even when he came back to us during the war. Nothing he says will change that. Right, _Mum_?" she asked, turning around and staring hard at Molly.

Mrs. Weasley stared back at them, shocked, silent for several moments, before she propelled herself off the sofa and over to Hermione and Ginny. She wrapped her arms about the petite, furious and crying woman and held her tight.

"Oh, Hermione. I'm sorry. Of course he had no right to tell us- I thought you knew- I was so distraught when I heard, but I can't imagine how you must feel. You poor thing- I'm so very sorry, Hermione-!"

Hermione held onto her anger a few seconds longer and then let herself relax into Molly's arms. It felt so nice to be held, to be comforted by someone older- someone wiser. To hear her say things like, _it will be okay_, and, _we're here for you_. Molly knew how she felt. She'd almost lost Arthur many times and she _had _lost a child. Yes, it was nice to be held by this woman.

She allowed herself to be brought back onto the couch with Ginny and Molly hanging onto either side of her as she cried again. After several minutes of tears and handkerchiefs, Hermione finally wiped at her eyes and sat back.

"Oh, my dear," Molly murmured. "He may be gone, but you can at least take comfort that he was doing something he loved. He was trying to save lives. I know the little boy he was found with is still in the hospital, but Percy told us he apparently has good chances-," she would've continued, but Ginny looked up sharply. The hand that was rubbing Hermione's back stilled.

"A boy?" she asked, her voice tight and controlled.

Hermione looked to Molly as well. "What do you mean?" she asked and quickly sat up, still wiping desperately at her teary eyes.

Molly looked nervously at them. "Well, I'm sure you know- don't you? Percy told us that when he…was found, there was a little boy in his arms. That he was crush-."

"Alright, that's enough Mum!" Ginny said, putting an arm about Hermione's shoulders. She had gone deathly pale at mention of how it had happened and now she was trembling.

She tried to shake Ginny off to no avail. "What do you mean, that Harry died saving a little boy? And I didn't know? Percy didn't think I deserved to know that about my own husband's death?"

Oh, gods. She was getting angry again, she could feel it. Well. She could feel it, but she definitely couldn't stop it. Or perhaps she didn't want to this time. Harry had died saving a little boy- and now that boy was barely hanging onto life, a life that had been saved by Harry's sacrificing his- and no one had told her. She knew she had to see this child. She had to see what was so wonderful that her husband had to die- had to go back into the subway rather than _escape_ and come back to her alive- she had to know what it was Harry felt when he made that decision.

Molly looked slightly alarmed and Ginny looked like she was simply trying to remain in control of the situation. Viola suddenly raced back into the living room with Ronald chasing after her. She ran straight to her mother and crawled onto her lap. Hermione instinctively wrapped her arms about her, still looking to Mrs. Weasley.

"Where is he now, this little boy? Why didn't anyone tell me?" Hermione could feel the franticness building in her. Apparently, so could Viola, because she began squirming about on her lap.

Molly looked as bewildered as Hermione felt. "Why, St. Mungo's, of course. They don't know who he is, just that he was one of the few survivors-."

It was all she needed to hear.

Ginny tried to keep Hermione from standing up, holding onto her shoulder, but she pulled away. Viola clung to her, aware that this was another _big _moment. She didn't even complain when her mummy took them both back into the fireplace.

"Hermione, where are you going?" Ginny asked, concern written upon her face. "You don't need to do this- that chances that they'll let you in to see him are slim- Hermione, at least leave Viola here! She doesn't need to see that!"

There was a flash of green flame and the mother and daughter were suddenly gone without another word.

"Oh, Merlin!" Ginny exclaimed and raced after them, leaving her mother and little Ronald alone.

Molly looked at her grandson. "Well," she said in a surprised voice. Ronald blinked back up at her, smears of chocolate upon his chin. She smiled at him wearily. "Well, I suppose they'll be back eventually. Care to help me make some more cookies, love?"

His shock of wild red hair flopped into his face as he nodded enthusiastically and Molly smiled. She took his hand in hers and, getting to her feet, walked into the kitchen with Ronald at her side.

* * *

**To _Erin Flynn_: Thanks for reading! I'm glad you like it; I'll do my best to keep up the good work. :)**


	14. Alliances, Over Uneasy

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**Author's Note: Please forgive my poor excuse for a doctor's chart; I'm sick this week and couldn't be bothered to research it. :P **

* * *

_Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for.  
-Dag Hammarskjold_

* * *

Hermione rushed down the main through way of the hospital, the simple flats she wore making light slapping noises against the clean tile. Viola bounced silently against her hip, hanging onto her mother's neck, her tiny hands wrapped around some loose curls of her mother's hair. 

Her mummy paid no attention to her unintentional tugging. In fact, if Viola had been taken to consider it, she wouldn't have been certain Mummy even realized she was carrying her daughter. It didn't really matter to Viola either way; she hadn't wanted to be away from Mummy just yet anyway. Oh, she wouldn't have complained or caused a fuss if she had been made to stay, but it was just as well she hadn't needed to yet. She was too afraid to let her mother out of her sight to drive her away now by misbehaving.

As for Hermione's part, she really _was _only half aware she had her daughter with her. All she could keep thinking was, _he saved a little boy. My husband died saving a little boy. He just had to be the fucking hero again, didn't he? _For one crazy minute she'd even thought she might kill him if he weren't already dead. Instead, she decided to focus her anger on this little stranger who was slowly dying in spite of Harry's efforts and the hospital staff that wouldn't let her in to see him.

In a furious huff, she pulled up short at the Intensive Care nurse's station. It was located just outside a set of double doors, upon either side of which stood an armed security guard. Hermione eyed them as she hefted Viola farther up her hip.

Yeah, she was pretty sure she could take them if she needed to.

She turned back to the desk.

"Excuse me," she interrupted the two witches standing behind the desk. They looked up and stared at her blankly. When they didn't respond immediately, she glared at them.

"I'm here to see the little boy you have. I was told he's in room 306," she said, this time a little louder. One of the women finally looked down at the desk and ruffled some papers.

Hermione was pretty sure she wasn't actually reading them.

"Are you family?" the second nurse asked.

Hermione shook her head and gave a terse, "No."

"Well then, I'm sorry, but we can't let you in-," the first woman began. Hermione spoke over her. The second nurse looked a little more intimidated and so she focused on the small, rat faced woman. Although Hermione was petite herself, she had no trouble commanding attention. That had _never_ been one of her problems.

"Excuse me, I don't think you understand," she continued coolly. "I'm Hermione Potter. It was my husband who saved that little boy's life just yesterday. Now, if you're smart and don't want to lose your jobs, you'll let me in to see that child right now.

"However, if you're demented and are looking to get fired, well, I can certainly help arrange that. You see, I don't care what your rules are or how much you're worried about contamination; that little boy owes my _dead _husband his life and I intend to see him. Today. This instant. So unless you have a death wish of your own, you'll let me in to see him. Are we clear?"

The first nurse narrowed her eyes only to get elbowed in the side by her shift partner, who answered Hermione quickly.

"Go right ahead, Mrs. Potter. I understand how badly you want to see _your _little boy." Although she was smiling with an extremely fake expression, she winked at Hermione nonetheless. And she'd let her in and even lied for her. Well, it looked like _one _of them wouldn't lose her job today.

She didn't bother to smile back and instead swished past the guards and into the new wing. Viola stared at her mother with wide eyes. Hermione finally seemed to notice she still had her little girl with her and stared back, a flicker of the old spark returning to her eyes.

"What?" she asked.

Viola continued to stare at her in awe. "Mummy, you're _brilliant_."

A small laugh escaped Hermione's lips and she looked back ahead, eyes alert for the room number she had received. To be honest, she'd expected a little more resistance from the nurses, but this was okay too. Probably better.

"Mummy!"

She turned her head towards her daughter again. "What is it, darling?"

Viola was staring back over her shoulder, pointing at one of the windows that looked into the ICU rooms off the hall.

"That's 206, Viola," she said gently. "I'm looking for-." Her daughter didn't let her finish and instead began wriggling in her arms.

"No! It's Barclay! I saw him- why is he here? He's not sick, is he, Mummy?"

Hermione sighed and walked back towards the room, glancing in the window. "I don't know who you mean; who's Barclay, Viola?"

The girl reached out a hand and touched the glass. "My friend," she murmured, "from school." Her voice had gotten quiet and her eyes glossed over. "Mummy, only sick people go to the host- the _hospital_, right?"

Hermione walked towards the door and, precariously balancing Viola, took the clipboard from the door to this _Barclay's _room.

_Unknown Child, male, aged 5_

_-heavy contusions to head, skull fracture, broken tibia- 2 places, internal bruising of organs, internal bleeding, minimal burn damage to legs and arms, possible permanent damage to brain, awake but catatonic when found, forced coma to speed up recovery_

_-recovered from wreckage of Moorgate, found with deceased Auror_

_-no background/family located_

Glancing from the chart back up to the window, Hermione voiced a thought. "Is this him, then? Is this who you gave your life for, Harry?" she whispered to herself. With Viola staring at her once more, she put the board back up and pressed her own hand up against the glass.

It was difficult to see him fully through the glass; the glare from the lights in the hallway made it hard to see past the magical machines and bedclothes. Still, he was so…small. And innocent. His young, pale face looked drawn and tired, as if he was fighting the most terrible battle he'd ever fight in his life. _For _his life. His hair was so blond it practically disappeared on the pillow that was too big for his head and a fine sheen of sweat plastered it to his forehead and temples. It looked as if he was struggling to breath- every breath wracked his young chest, forcing him to take great heaves in spite of the oxygen he was hooked up to.

He was so small and in such pain.

And he was so alone.

Hermione felt her heart beating hard against her ribcage and suddenly made a decision. She couldn't hate this little boy. She couldn't. It wasn't his fault he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn't his fault his life had been put in danger in the first place. And it wasn't his fault Harry was gone.

She could see it perfectly in her mind: Harry hearing him, or seeing him in danger; being unable to leave the boy to die alone; thinking of how he'd feel if it were Viola in that situation…

Her husband had been the best of men.

Taking a few shaky steps towards the door, she opened it quietly and stepped inside. She set Viola down gently and the little girl ran over to the bedside of her friend.

"Barclay?" she whispered. Hermione walked up behind her and stroked her hair. She could tell her daughter was worried. To have lost her father and now to see a friend in this state so soon afterwards…it was a baptism by fire. No child should be introduced to death that way. Her girl's hair, so like her own, bounced up under her fingers as the little girl tried to reach across the bed; standing on her tiptoes in order to touch her friend's still hand.

He didn't move, he didn't blink. He didn't seem to respond in anyway. Viola grew anxious and tugged on his hand.

"Barclay?" she whispered again, more urgently. "Barclay, stop playing. I'm here. I'll do whatever you say, I promise. I won't steal your crayons anymore. Barclay, don't you want to see me?"

Hermione tried to pull Viola away, to pick her up again. Ginny had been right. This wasn't good for her daughter. Even if she hadn't known the boy, the sight of him hooked up to all those wires; bruised and bandaged, would have been disturbing to any child.

Viola refused to go. She snatched desperately at the bedclothes; at Barclay's hand, his arm.

"No! Barclay? Why won't you look at me? Is it cause I was mean to you yesterday? I'm sorry, I won't be mean again. I'll let you boss me if you want." She tugged on his hand again and Hermione paused in her efforts. Viola stamped her foot.

"Barclay Malfoy, wake up!"

Hermione stopped altogether and Viola flung herself back at the small form lying on the bed, crying openly now.

"What did you just say, Viola?"

The little girl turned to look at her mother, wiping at her eyes. "I called him- _unh_- his full name…Barclay _Malfoy_. Cause he hates it when I do that- _uunh_- and he _always_ yells at me. But- but he _won't_ this time, Mummy!"

Hermione wrapped her arms about Viola, holding the little girl gently back from the bed; trying to give her comfort she did not know if she felt yet or not. So, this was Draco Malfoy's son. The man who had taunted her and teased her and made her believe she loved him, once. He'd had a son by Pansy who now lay broken and barely recovering on a hospital bed; an anonymous patient. Saved by _her_ husband's hand.

Where was Draco now? What was he doing that was so important he couldn't have fought his way past those guards to see his only child? Why was it that Harry had to die saving Draco's son? Why was it always _him_ ruining her life?

The door behind them opened and Hermione turned her head slightly. The machines continued to beep softly.

"Hermione," Ginny said softly. Hermione inclined her head. Ginny looked past her to the hospital bed, taking in Viola's tears and the small form under the blanket. Her eyes widened somewhat and she moved forward, placing an arm about Hermione's shoulders.

"Is this…," her voice trailed off. "But it's Malfoy's son!" she exclaimed. Hermione nodded.

"Yeah- yes." She suddenly turned towards her friend and buried her face in Ginny's shoulder. "Oh, Ginny. Look at him! How am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to _feel_?"

Ginny wrapped both arms about her and held her until her tears stopped. Then she stepped back, her hands still firmly on her friend's shoulders.

"I'm fairly certain you're supposed to be feeling exactly as you do right now. Confused, hurt, angry, sad, and possibly utterly lost."

Hermione gave another small laugh and Ginny smiled at her. "Does he know about this?" she asked, nodding towards the bed. Viola had broken free of her mother's grasp and was back at Barclay's bedside, stalwartly keeping watch; holding his own small hands in hers.

"No. If he did know, don't you think he'd be here? In fact, I don't know why he's not here now! How could he just leave his son out here, alone, without doing something to try and find him? Where is that wife of his, for that matter? You'd think she could spare some time from her _shopping_ to look for her little boy! And, by the way," Hermione continued, now quite upset, "why on earth didn't this idiotic establishment recognize him as a Malfoy? Honestly, what other wizarding family produces such sickly looks? I mean, don't they have tests for finding this sort of stuff out? I think the muggle world probably works more quickly than this piece of crap system we have now!"

Ginny refrained from mentioning that one time in sixth year when she _distinctly _remembered Hermione finding his looks _less _than sickly. She figured it would be rather tasteless, especially after everything that had happened. It was probably too soon for dark humor. Or maybe it was just the right time for it? Either way, she had an emotional- far more emotional than was normal, but was it any wonder- Hermione on her hands and she didn't need to go making it any worse. She certainly didn't need her best friend mad at her because she couldn't keep her mouth shut.

She settled for common sense. "Do you know where he is right now? Why don't we go back out to the nurses station and tell them we know who their patient is?"

Hermione looked at Ginny again. "You're right," she sighed. Then she stopped, startled. "Wait, how did you get back here, too? I had to threaten them with bodily harm."

"Great minds think alike," Ginny quipped.

Shaking her head, the indomitable witch stepped back towards her daughter. She turned to look at Ginny once more. "I don't think I'm going to get Viola out of here," she said softly. Her expression hardened. "But someone has to tell Malfoy."

"I'll stay," Ginny replied automatically. She offered a grin. "Don't be too hard on him. We've all had a rough night." Her words were directed at the back of her friend's head as the door swung shut behind her.

Ginny was left with Viola in the half silence of the room. The hospital brought back a great many memories; some good, some bad…all terribly poignant and bittersweet. She stood back and let her goddaughter keep watch, wondering how Viola would recover from the mess around her. Children were notoriously resilient, she knew, but Harry hadn't grown up without emotional scars at the very least. Still, he hadn't had family who'd cared for him his whole life. Viola was far from alone in this world. Even little Barclay wasn't alone, either.

She continued to watch her best friend's child in hopeful contemplation. Ginny was touched by her devotion to her playmate from school. The little girl's face was as pale as that of the boy who lay quietly suffering. Still, she thought it was probably a good sign. Feeling pain, anger, or fear _was_ better than feeling nothing at all.

Wasn't it?

* * *

Melusine Dearborn sighed and rubbed her temples, taking a brief moment to think before looking back up to the face off taking place in front of her. Not that it was much of a contest. Her Vice Minister, Percy Weasley, was sitting quietly in his seat; and although there was a look of pure detestation upon his face, he remained silent on all topics. 

Heaven only knew she'd left it open for him to respond, but this was getting to be ridiculous. If she'd known he could be so easily intimidated, she would never have appointed him in the first place. For now, she had to be content with George's explanations.

She liked George, really, she did, but he was so…outspoken. Charming, but not much gentleman like tact. Not that it mattered much at this point. She'd returned in the early hours of that morning only to find wizarding London in what _should _have been a state of emergency. Especially with the courses of action she and Percy had discussed before she'd left. There'd been some signs of trouble then, too.

She assumed that was the reason for Percy's silence. As much as she admired him for his work ethic and loyalty to the ministry, he had behaved in an unforgivably incompetent manner.

The git.

Now, as she listened to the moment of _blessed _quiet that had descended upon her office, she thought. She thought about what she ought to do and what she knew she _must _do. She considered her options- even those she didn't have.

And she wished she hadn't been on tour of the other ministries for the last two weeks. It would even have been funny- if she had felt inclined to laugh at that moment- because no sooner had she set foot in every new ministry; than she had realized how unnecessary the trip had been. In fact, Percy could call it a _goodwill_ tour all he wanted, but she really didn't see the need…_ah. _

She knew she'd been missing something.

"_Percy,_" she said, smiling in that gracious, unreadable manner she had, "you haven't asked how my tour went."

At that, the older red-haired wizard jerked a bit and looked up at her. Was it her imagination, or was that guilt in his eyes?

"In fact, since it was your pet project, I should give you an entire briefing on it," she continued, bringing her hands before her and clasping them together. "But that can wait until later. For now, why don't you explain to me why, exactly, you felt the need to organize this tour for me when we had problems developing right here that needed to be dealt with. As a matter of fact, I recall us discussing the issues at hand before I left and the courses of action best suited for impending trouble. Can you tell me why you didn't act as previously agreed upon?"

George stared at his brother, anger flowing through his veins. He could barely believe what the minister was saying. She and Percy had known about potential problems before she'd left and not only had she gone anyway, Percy had gone against orders? He couldn't keep quiet any longer. He knew he was pressing his luck already- that he'd already had his say, but he simply could not let that slide.

"Minister," he began, "how could you have left at all if you knew of these impending problems?"

She looked towards him, her brown eyes sparking dangerously. "Mr. Weasley, you know nothing about my position or my job; I have already granted you much leniency in allowing you this meeting at all; it would behoove you to remember that."

George leaned forward, not put off at all. He hadn't gotten to where he was in the ministry by keeping his mouth shut and he wasn't about to start now.

"With all due respect, Minister, I am well aware of the responsibilities your position entails. My family has held jobs at the ministry for years and been personal friends with more than one minister. I don't really care what your reasons for leaving were; I just want to know what you knew about this situation before you left. Whatever you know is bound to help my own people in figuring this bloody mess out." He kept an easy expression upon his face as he spoke and the minister's face slowly softened as she sat back.

"Fine, Mr. Weasley. You've made your point." She looked towards Percy again and made a decision. "Percy, if you would excuse us, please."

He looked up, astonished. "Minister?"

She frowned lightly at him. "I'm not firing you yet, Percy. I am, however, putting you on suspension until I have all the facts. Now get your things and take a long vacation. It seems to me that I was mistaken in placing so much faith in your abilities."

His face white as a sheet, Percy stood slowly and shuffled from the office. Once he'd gone, the woman turned back to George.

"To answer your questions, Mr. Weasley, I'm not certain I know much of anything, which is a sad mistake on my part. I'm sure you're aware that since the war, the role of minister has become much more global in its responsibilities. As such, my focus has not extended very far into the national level of wizarding. That does not excuse my own part in this, but I will do my best to explain."

George sat back and regarded the minister through narrowed eyes. He felt a certain amount of respect for her, but he had to admit a level of distrust as well. To have found out she'd had some ounce of previous knowledge and left the country in Percy's incapable hands anyway- it was suspicious, to say the least. Still, he was willing to give her a chance.

The minister sighed and stood up to begin pacing behind her desk. She paused only to pour some breakfast tea for herself and George.

"I understand that your department, together with Mr. Malfoy's, has gathered much evidence for the case of these wards collapsing," she finally said, glancing at him. He stared back and nodded once. "You must understand, Mr. Weasley, I only received that information today. When you gave it to me, just now." She smiled apologetically. "It isn't that I don't care about these individual cases, Mr. Weasley. It's that as the wizarding world grows into a more global community, the position of minister changes. My vice minister is supposed to have assumed much of the more national and local responsibilities that I normally would have handled, say, ten or fifteen years ago.

"It would have to have been a large incident in order to come across my desk…and then the South Loop accident occurred. I'm sure you recall that one. That was the first time it came to my attention that there might be something wrong with the wards. Percy, however, insisted that it was under control and I had been dealing with some difficult negotiations at the time, so I mistakenly let him convince me nothing was amiss."

She turned to face him once more. "I believe now that he knew something was seriously amiss-," George snorted and the minister frowned at him, "but he did not want me aware of how desperate the situation had grown. I think he believed he could deal with problem and have a solution ready before I ever got back from my tour. Your brother, as you know, is an ambitious young man." This time George stood also.

"That's an understatement, Minister," he growled. "But let's cut to the chase. You know even less about this situation than I do, is what you're really saying."

She looked at him calmly, one eyebrow raised. "I never denied it. That does not mean I was not doing my job in the meantime. However, now that I'm here," she smiled again, this time more gently, "I suggest we work together and remedy the situation. I'm prepared to offer you any and all resources you require. And, as my new acting vice minister, I'd like your advice on the matter."

George stared at her in disbelief for several moments before speaking. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Excuse me?" the older woman murmured, eyes widening.

"I said, is this some kind of joke? Are you trying to buy my loyalty and silence the way Percy can be bought? It won't work. I act how I see fit for the best interests of muggles and wizards alike. I'm not like that prat," he warned.

The minister was silent for a minute before she began laughing softly. "Mr. Weasley," she said quietly, "what possible benefit could there be for me to try and cover any of this up? Thousands have died already, muggles included, and the wizarding world is not likely to forget the fact that it was under my watch The Boy Who Lived was killed. _If _it's at all possible to save London, we're only going to accomplish that through teamwork and an open information policy. As it is, this will probably be my last season in office- a commission will have to be funded to thoroughly investigate these occurrences. It will do me no good to try and hide the fact that my administration has thoroughly _fucked_ _up_."

If George was shocked by her language, he didn't show it. Instead, he nodded and stuck out his hand.

"Any resources at all?" he asked one last time.

Melusine Dearborn took his hand and shook it firmly.

"Mr. Weasley," she replied, "you have my word."

* * *

In the outer office, Draco had given up on the sheaf of papers. He knew- he _knew-_ that there must be a spell to check the list for him, but for the life of him he couldn't recall any that were relevant. In fact, he couldn't recall much of anything at the moment. He was sleep deprived, he was wearing day old clothes, and he was feeling extremely sorry for himself. It was driving him crazy. 

Then there was the fact the George was still in there although Percy had left several minutes ago. He could care less that the other Weasley had been kicked out, packed a few things and left, but the fact the George was still in there…that worried him a bit. He needed George right now.

A sudden movement above him startled him and he accidentally dropped the papers he was holding. They spread across his lap to the floor and he knelt down, scrambling to pick them up. _Shit. _Shit, shit shit! Gods, what order had they been in? What page had he been on?

A shadow fell across the mess and he looked up from his desperate reorganization.

Oh, _fuck._ Not her. Please, Merlin. Anyone but _her_. She stared back down at him, her chocolate brown eyes unreadable, but just as tired as his own grey ones. He felt his heart wrench. He really didn't think he could take this right now. With great effort, he forced himself to look back to the papers in his hands.

Hermione found herself looking down at him, suddenly unable to speak. He'd been easy enough to find; all she'd had to do was check with information. She'd prepared a speech the whole way here, in fact. But being here, face to face with him, was quite different than picturing his smug, perfect face in her mind. He was looking far from smug or perfect this particular morning. In fact, he looked kind of how she felt.

Shaking her head to clear it a bit, she decided to take the plunge anyway.

"Malfoy," she said, her voice far quieter than she wanted it to be. He grunted, but didn't look up. Just kept shuffling those papers about in his hands.

"Malfoy, are you aware that your son is all alone in the Intensive Care unit of St. Mungo's?"

Oh, that got his attention. He stopped moving, but still didn't look up.

"That's right," she continued, rather relentlessly, she thought, but she didn't really care about how he felt right at that moment. She thought she might like to get in a fight with him this morning. It would add some normalcy to an otherwise completely detestable day and quite possibly _the_ most horrid past twenty four hours of her entire life. "He's lying there, all alone, except for _my _daughter and _Ginny_, who really has no interest in your child at all, but is there out of the goodness of her heart because you couldn't beat your way past two measly guards to get in and see him!"

He finally looked up. Hermione could see unshed tears in his eyes and it startled her. She felt her heart beat wildly against her chest as it had when she'd seen Barclay. It felt like it wanted to stop beating forever.

Draco's lips parted slightly and no words came out for a second. He tried to speak louder. "He's alive?" He said it like a man who had just crossed the desert without water. Like he'd barely been alive until that moment.

She realized he meant his son and stared down at him, somewhat puzzled. "Yes, your son is alive, Malfoy. What I want to know is where the hell you and your wife are that you couldn't make them let you in to see the poor thing! He looks awful- all these tubes and potions-." She stopped short as Draco got to his feet.

"Potter-," he muttered painfully, still clutching the papers. How could he get her to just shut up for once? Of course he hadn't expected the news to spread already, and he knew she was grieving as well, but still. Just because he was a Malfoy didn't mean he didn't have feelings. He tried to get a word in, but she ignored his efforts to speak.

"Honestly, what does that woman do all day? Shop? I figured, with the instincts previous Malfoy wives seem to have towards their young that even Pansy would have given up her appointments to be with-," she was interrupted by another strangled growl from Draco.

"Potter, please," he whined, half heartedly attempting to glare at her. "Just tell me where he is. Can you take me to him?"

Hermione stared at him, feeling utterly out of her element. This wasn't the Malfoy she knew. What on earth was wrong with him? Why wasn't he arguing with her? Calling her Granger on _accident_?

Draco sighed and looked to the list in his hands, waiting for the next barrage of admonishments. Wait. _Wait_. There was her name, right there before him on the paper. Tiny print, tenth row down, middle column. He felt the tears in his eyes start working their way out. Thank Merlin, he wouldn't have to say it out loud. He shoved the papers at her and turned around, wiping at his eyes before shrugging on a set of robes that was hanging nearby. She glanced down at them, bewildered at this point.

"Malfoy, what- _oh_," she gasped. She tried to wrap her mind around what she was seeing, but it all made terrible sense. Oh, Merlin. She had completely stuck her foot in it. Hermione suddenly felt awful and ill. "_Malfoy,_" she moaned, blinking furiously to keep the tears away. "Merlin, I'm-."

He interrupted her again. Draco had no desire to deal with a guilty _and _grieving Hermione right at that moment. Besides, she hadn't known. _Never mind that she knows every bloody thing every other moment of the day_. He tried to keep reminding himself of that so he wouldn't put a hole in the wall. Now was not the time to be mean and unforgiving. There were more important things than withholding charity right then, thank you very much.

"Shut it, _Granger_," he said gruffly. "Just take me to him."

Hermione bit back a retort and tried to smile weakly despite the shame she felt. And amazingly, for the first time in her life, she did exactly what he asked her to do.

* * *

**To _mofo_: Thanks! Don't worry about Barclay. I'm not that evil. As for D/Hr's union, it will happen, but it will take awhile. I'm afraid that this story, by its very nature, will have to be quite a bit longer than the last one. There's a lot of emotional growth to consider now. **

**To _Ashley_: Thanks! There will definitely be more action on the way because D/Hr will be working closely to solve the mess everyone is in. And with George working more with the minister, they will have more and more alone time. Although I think they'll have to wait until well after the case is dealt with before any solid romancing happens. After all, they both just lost their spouses. I hope you can wait that long! **

**To _Heather_: Thanks! I'll do my best. I'm glad you like it so much; I appreciate your support.**


	15. Distant Mirrors

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_I tried to tell myself I did my job.  
That it was in self-defense. I didn't believe me.  
-Frank: The Indian Runner_

* * *

Draco insisted on driving. Hermione offered, but it was the last words she spoke. It was the last either of them spoke.

"Malfoy, why don't I drive?" she asked as they made their way to the ministry lot. The parking lot for the ministry was small and inconspicuous: just a few marked spaces in a public lot across the street from the visitors entrance. Since he had flooed to work that morning, he had left his car at his town home and it was necessary to take a company car. Especially since there was no way to floo from the ministry to St. Mungo's. Still, Hermione thought Draco was probably in no state to drive. She remembered how he'd driven only yesterday. The man was _not_ trustworthy behind the wheel of a car.

She frowned a little as her shorter legs struggled to keep up with his long strides. The day was truly miserable now- rain, clouds and the occasional flash of lightening. She wondered if Viola was frightened. Her daughter didn't like thunderstorms. She tried again, rather breathless, "Malfoy- _Draco_- I said, why don't I-?"

"I heard you perfectly well!" he shot at her over his shoulder and quickened his pace. He never actually answered her question; just slid behind the wheel of the car, out of the rain. He waited for her to catch up.

Hermione dashed forward the last few steps and tugged open the car door, bundling inside before her hair could take over her head completely. It was frizzing desperately in the light drizzle.

Draco looked at her once before starting the vehicle. She barely had time to put on her seatbelt before he was pulling out of the lot, narrowly avoiding other entering vehicles.

He wasn't _angry _at her, not really. Not even mad, actually. She hadn't known about Pansy; she'd been doing what she thought was right. He thought he could understand why she was upset. She'd just lost her husband and then to have discovered a child alone in the hospital that way and then realize who it was, well- wait. How had she found out Barclay was in the hospital? When he hadn't even known himself?

Ah well. Must be one of those uncanny things. Fate seemed to enjoy toying with him in that manner, didn't it? Especially where she was concerned. He glanced at her again. She was staring moodily out the window at the passing cars and trees, homes and businesses. Hmm. Maybe he was driving a bit too fast. He put on the brake a little and slowed some. It wouldn't do to kill himself now that he knew his son was still alive.

They pulled up to a traffic light and waited out the red signal. The windshield wipers of the vehicle swished quietly back and forth. Draco wasn't even concerned anymore that he'd left George back there alone. He was a smart man; he'd be able to take care of himself. His son, on the other hand, was in desperate need of his attention. While he ached to ask Hermione what Barclay was like, how she'd found his son, why she'd come to get him, he didn't ask her any of those things. He didn't want her thinking he wanted her talking to him. He couldn't handle any of the guilt induced garbage she'd throw at him.

No, that wasn't right. She'd be saying those things because, in spite of feeling guilty, she'd actually mean them. She always said exactly what she meant, hadn't she told him that once, a very long time ago?

He could hear her voice now: _Draco, I'm sorry for yelling at you. I didn't know about Pansy. I wish none of this had ever happened- I'm just so upset right now. Harry's death, it's impossible to fathom. I can't imagine how you must be feeling right now. At least I have Viola. Oh, Draco, I hope Barclay makes it. I'm sure he will. Draco? _

"Draco?"

A car horn beeped behind him and he was startled from his thoughts. Hermione's hand was on his arm, shaking him lightly. He realized the light was green. The horn beeped again and he put his foot on the gas pedal, moving them forward.

Hermione took her hand off his arm and didn't say anything else. The glazed look in his eyes had retreated somewhat, but she kept an eye on him nonetheless this time. There was no denying that she was worried about him. _He should've let me drive, _she thought. _Then again, when has the man ever taken my advice? _

She wasn't upset- okay, she was, but not for the reasons he assumed. She was still angry and bitter that it had been her husband to die saving his son. It created a flood of strange feelings inside her that she wasn't entirely sure what do about. Besides that, she did still feel guilty over accusing his wife of not caring about his son, but how was she to know the woman was dead? So many had died yesterday…and she had a feeling it would get harder and harder to keep track of their lives as they became more deeply enmeshed in this problem. She let out a small sigh and slumped against the car door.

Draco gripped the wheel more firmly as they neared the hospital. He could feel Hermione's eye upon him and it unnerved him even more. Still, as long as he didn't drift off in that manner again he was sure they would be fine. Parking at the curb, he and Hermione got out of the vehicle swiftly and, taking a quick look around, entered the window that lead into the hospital.

* * *

The smells assaulted him immediately and he choked back a coughing fit, putting a hand over his nose and mouth. Merlin, they were as bad as they had been less than twelve hours ago. He cast a quick glance at Hermione before following her down the hall. She wasn't looking at him, just walking steadily towards the stairs that would take them the quickest up to the third floor, where Intensive Care was located.

Now it was Draco struggling to keep up with Hermione, who seemed to want nothing more than to be rid of her job of passing on the good- and bad- news. She took the stairs two at a time before reaching the third story. She paused and looked back down at Draco, who was trudging up after her, one step at a time. He glanced up before continuing to work his way up the last few steps.

"Merlin, Granger," he whuffed as he neared her, "it was a long night. Where the hell did you get your energy from?"

She stared at him, mouth hanging open. Granger? He'd just called her _Granger_, after what she'd just been through? God damn him, but where was his brain? She couldn't pick a fight with him now, either- he was about to go see his son who was in coma, for Merlin's sake! How dare he do this to her? Hermione stood back a moment, silent, letting her anger simmer. She'd just have to argue with him later. Now was not the time. _When will it be time? I can't even hate the stupid man right now- and Merlin, do I need to._ _I need some kind of release, which I'm obviously not going to find anytime soon. _She angrily yanked the stairwell door open and shoved him out in front of her.

"Just head back into the ward. I'll cover things with the nurse's station."

He looked at her retreating back blankly for a moment before heading for the doors to the unit. _What the hell is wrong with the world today? _

Two guards stepped forward to stop him. Draco stared them down. "Get out of my way- my son is in there, so help me-!"

He felt a hand on his arm and she was suddenly beside him again. She looked as angry as he felt- whether it was directed towards him or the guards, he wasn't completely sure.

"I've just spoken to the nurses," she said coolly. "This is Mr. Malfoy- his son is in room 206. Now let us through before I remove your-."

She didn't get to finish her sentence because they immediately took a step back and Draco shoved his way past them. Hermione followed quickly. Merlin, the man was impossible. She realized now why he hadn't just shoved his way past them yesterday- the man couldn't do _anything _for himself. Then again, when had he ever? Still, it was hard to hate him just then…she supposed.

"Where is he?" he asked over his shoulder as he started down the quiet hallway.

Hermione gestured. "Right there. 206. I wouldn't have seen him right away if Viola hadn't…well."

He cast a glance backwards, his brow furrowed. Her daughter had been here? Draco stepped up to the window, more confused than ever. _Oh. _She still was here.

Through the glass he could see the little girl holding his son's still hand, stretching her arms as far as she could across the bed to hold onto him. Her dark curls cascaded down her back and he could tell she had been crying. The image brought memories flooding back; memories he'd wished he could forget a hundred times. A tall red haired woman was standing a few feet away from the little girl. _Ginny_, he registered. The woman passed a hand over her eyes before realizing that someone was standing at the window. She looked up at him, startled, then waved a hand.

Hermione stood back from him as he watched from outside. What was he doing? Why wasn't he going to his son?

"Draco," she said his name gently. "What are you doing?"

He jerked his head, giving it a quick shake. How could he explain to her that he felt such guilt and shame that he couldn't bear the thought of going in that room? That he was no deserving parent; that his son didn't deserve him for a father? He couldn't even keep him safe- that was all he'd wanted, all he'd promised Pansy. That he would keep their son, their miracle of a little boy, safe.

He'd failed. He'd failed to even keep his wife alive, after all they'd fought for, and now his son lay in a hospital bed- dying? Living? He put a hand to the glass and continued to stare at the little boy. His Barclay. He could feel his eyes grow wet and blinked madly.

Hermione's heart- oh, damn her heart! It kept beating hard, wildly. Telling her to do something. _What_? _What am I supposed to do for him, the man who had everything and now has practically nothing and the only reason he has anything at all is because my husband was an idiot and a better man than this one? Tell me, tell me what I'm supposed to be able to do for him!_

She took a tentative step forward and touched his arm again. She kept it there this time.

"Draco," she spoke once more. His first name sounded foreign to her ears. She hadn't called him that this much in years. It was always Malfoy- only Draco when she thought of him. And now she was treating him like she had all that time ago. _Tragedy forces the issue sometimes, I suppose_, she thought vaguely.

He turned slightly at the sound of her voice. She continued to speak. "I don't know what's keeping you from going in there right now, but if you don't move soon I'm going to drag your sorry ass in there for you."

He let out a choked laugh and wiped at his eyes. Draco had no doubt she meant it; but the image was a humorous and welcome one. He looked back through the glass.

"I don't expect you to understand, Gran- Potter-," he began, but she interrupted him.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Draco! Just call me Hermione. It would solve many of _both _our problems. And as for not understanding-," she paused, crossing her arms and glaring at him, "_try me_."

He grimaced before letting out another feeble chuckle. "You're right, of course. Pansy would be yelling at me too, if she were here." Sighing, he rested his forehead against the window, staring in at Barclay.

"How is he?" he asked quietly. Hermione sighed and pointed to the door.

"His chart's on the door. Look, Draco- I don't care what kind of guilt you think you feel over _letting _something like this happen to him, but the point is that you _didn't _let this happen. You tried very hard to make sure things like this wouldn't happen to him, ever. And right now you can do your son more good by going in there and being with him than you can by feeling useless emotions like shame and guilt. Those things aren't going to bring Pansy back, or undo the hurt he's in, or even help us finish solving what we started."

He gazed at her, his grey eyes darkening with anger. "Don't tell me what I feel about my own son! You know nothing of what Pansy and I- what we we've been through-!" he spun away from her and yanked the chart off the door.

Hermione could see he was trembling with rage- probably against himself. He had no reason to be angry at her. Like she had no reason to be angry against him? She gave another small sigh. Fine. Let the man do what he thought was best.

"I never said I did," she admonished him, her voice low. "Listen, I'm going for a walk. When you've made up your mind when you're going to start being a proper father, let me know." With that, she turned and began walking down the corridor. She wasn't sure where she was going, just that she needed to be _away_ from him and, as horrid as she felt admitting it, his son. She couldn't handle being around either of them right then. All those things she's said to Draco applied to her as well. It was by no means easy to tell oneself that she had to move on for now, continue living despite the guilt and anger and sorrow she felt. But it was what must be done.

She paused and looked back at Malfoy, gathering her sweater closer about her. Was it growing chilly in the corridor?

* * *

George looked down at the plan he had sketched out with the minister's help. It looked good. Now to execute it.

"So the first thing you need is what," Melusine stated, running her hand over her salt and pepper hair one more time. She had a new set of forms before her, this time for putting through the orders they needed. She'd already filled out an intra-ministry memo; one that would go to every department alerting them to the state of emergency. That would be a start, at least, in getting everyone up to speed and to help them take their orders more seriously when they arrived. Honestly, it was going to take the strength of giant to move the mountain they were facing.

George reviewed their actions. "Well, we already know that the temporary restriction on apparating was actually one of Percy's better ideas, so that can stay in place. The next thing is to- and you're not going to like this- shut down the wizarding road and railways."

He was right and the minister groaned. He started to explain himself, but she held up a hand. "It's not necessary, Mr. Weasley. I understand the situation is dire. I promised my full cooperation and you have it."

George stared at her, silent for a minute, before continuing. The woman had courage, that was certain. "That may be true, Minister, but you still deserve an explanation. My reasoning is that those road and railways- including the tube- were built practically parallel to any existing muggle tracks. Now, I know some of them predate the muggle highways, but until we have access to the books and blueprints that give us that information, we need to close all of them.

"Obviously, we can't expect the muggles to close their systems, but as wizards, we have more than one form of quick transportation, so it's our responsibility to shut down our systems. We'll still have flying vehicles, brooms and the floo network available _and _any wizards or witches who have muggle licenses will be able to help others carpool to work. In addition to that, there are quite a few of us who are familiar with the muggle tube as well. So that leaves us with plenty of options for travel and getting to and from work."

Melusine nodded and filled in some more spaces on the form. "You're quite right. Now what about the wards? What do we do about buildings and the like?"

Wincing, George turned to face her. "You're not going to like this either," he said.

Quill in hand, she smiled wryly. Everything that had happened so far was so preposterous, so unthinkable, that she was willing to do anything to prevent its happening ever again.

"Try me," she said.

George looked away, his jaw working, before he looked back. He smiled as well.

"Alright. You asked for it. We need to evacuate all wizarding communities that were built within the parameters of the wards. This is, of course, just within London and its existing burrows, but still. Any that were not built with their own particular set of wards and instead relied upon the preexisting ones need to be evacuated and shut down immediately." He paused as she wrote down this new information in a different form. "That's not all," he added.

She glanced up from her writing and nodded again. "Go on."

"The final step is to secure any major areas that cannot be evacuated and must be maintained for the duration of the investigation. This includes facilities such as the ministry complex itself, Diagon Alley, and St. Mungo's. We'll need to get a crack team of warders on the job immediately."

"Understood, Mr. Weasley. Now, what about individual homes in the London area?"

"Any that were warded individually, similar to the situation at Number 12, are privately maintained. They are not our concern."

"Well," she responded, filling out the final form with a flourish and giving all three the minister's stamp, "is that it for now? If so, I'll deliver these to the appropriate places personally and we can get started. Oh, and I imagine I'll need to speak with the Prime Minister as well, although if that could be avoided…" she let her voice drift off and looked at George meaningfully.

He frowned. "If Potter and Malfoy get started right away, we _might _be able to resolve this before it comes to that. But with the other accidents, I don't see how-." He stopped, shrugging helplessly.

Minister Dearborn sighed. "I know. And I've already exchanged one report with him, over the South Loop a few weeks ago. But we need those two on this immediately. I'd like to avoid any more problems. The solutions you've named will only give us so much time, Mr. Weasley."

"I know, Minister. And believe me, as soon as they're able, they'll be on it. But they've both just lost their spouses."

Melusine Dearborn, who had been ready to exit the office, papers in hand, turned back around slowly. Memories of the day she'd learned of her own husband's death came flooding back. "Oh, my," she breathed, her face growing pale. "I _am _sorry to hear that."

George gazed at her, furrowing his brow. "I'll let them know," he offered.

Melusine stared ahead of her another beat before recalling herself. "Ah, yes, if you would, Mr. Weasley. Thank you," she finished softly, walking from the room. It wouldn't do to go remembering those things. That had happened a very long time ago, indeed. In fact, she'd almost forgotten what it had felt like, the devastation. She kept walking.

George turned his attention back to his list. Now to find them. "Draco!" he called. When he didn't receive an answer, he too stepped from the office. The outer room was empty and he glanced about, concerned. How late was it? And where was Draco?

* * *

Draco glared down at the clipboard in his hands. Let her think what she wanted- she was only _right_, after all. _Malfoy, you fool, how could you say those things? She's done nothing wrong and only spoken the truth. You are allowing your guilt to control you. Barclay needs you- look at the state he's in!_

He glanced up at her figure as it made its way down the deserted hallway, the shadows gathering in. She was hurting just as much as he was at this moment. He almost called out to her, but dropped his gaze back to the paper in his hand. There was possible brain damage, fractures, bleeding, burns…oh, Merlin. And he'd been found with no sign of identification…that meant Pansy must have been separated from him. That was somewhat of a relief, to know his son hadn't been with a body that was practically unrecognizable as his mother- Draco couldn't begin to imagine the emotional trauma his son must have been through.

_What else? Found with an auror. So he was saved by one of the men on the scene…but I wasn't aware there were any aurors there except- _oh. Oh, Merlin.

Except for Potter.

_Oh, Merlin._ The shit was going to hit the fan with that sooner or later. No wonder Hermione had been yelling at him earlier- Potter was dead because…no. No, Potter probably would have died anyway. These accidents happened with deadly speed. The only difference was that his son would have died as well, if not for Potter. His son might die _anyway_.

Without another glance at Hermione, Draco put the chart back on the door and entered the small room. She'd been right, there were tubes and bags of potions everywhere. Magical readouts made funny beeping noises.

Viola turned to look at him, startled by the noise of his entry. Her big green eyes were sparkling and damp. She gaped at him a little before running over to him and grabbing his hand.

"Mr. Malfoy! Barclay won't wake up- I've been trying, I've called him all the names he hates and I promised him I wouldn't bother him, but he just lies there- what's wrong with him?"

Draco looked down at her helplessly and then to Ginny, who only smiled wearily.

"It's true. She's been pestering him nonstop. I think I know all the words to 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' now." She looked pointedly at the door. "Where's Hermione?"

Draco shifted uncomfortably as he stared at the bed. Viola tugged on his hand some. "She's out in the hall. I think she wanted some space."

Ginny refrained from snorting. Right. So even when they were grieving, they couldn't keep from each other's throats. Bloody _hell_. She stepped away from the wall she'd been leaning on.

"I'll go keep her company. Is there anything you need?"

"Someone needs to notify Ornella."

It took Ginny a moment to realize he meant Parkinson's mother. "Want me to owl her?"

"That would be great, thanks," he responded quickly.

"Well, okay then. Come on, Viola. Your mummy's outside. Want to go say hi?"

The little girl's face fell and she tucked her other hand around Draco's wrist. Her tugging increased. "No. I _can't _leave Barclay. What if he wakes up and gets scared?"

Draco's heart gave a painful pull against his chest. This little girl's father had died saving her friend and she had nothing but love and compassion for him. It made him feel even more awful than he had before. "Listen, Viola," he finally said quietly, kneeling down to face her. "There's no danger of that happening soon. Besides, I think your mummy would really like to see you right now. Why don't you let me talk to Barclay by myself for a bit and then you can come right back in, okay?"

For one terrifying second, he thought she was going to burst into tears, her eyes screwing themselves up and her mouth working on itself. Instead, she finally let out a giant, shaky sigh and nodded.

"Okay," she whispered, and took Ginny's hand. The two walked out the door and Draco stood back up, moving to his son's bedside. What he had to say to Barclay needed to be said in private.

As much as he appreciated Weasley's and the Potter girl's attentions to his son, they weren't family. He liked that Hermione had understood that. He knew a certain part of her had elected to remain outside because she was pissed at him, but he also knew she was and always would be the brightest witch of her age. It seemed she still understood a part of him that _he _wasn't even always sure existed. That he wasn't always willing to admit to.

Sighing, he pulled up a stool from the corner of the room to the side of the bed and sat down. Draco looked at his son's pale and drawn face. He lifted one hand and gently pushed the hair from his brow. _His _hair. Malfoy hair. He could see Barclay's eyes moving beneath closed lids and wondered if his son was dreaming. Was it possible to dream in a coma? Was it just like a very long sleep? Would he ever see _her _blue eyes looking up at him again? He continued to pass his hand over Barclay's head, stroking his hair.

"Barclay," he said very, very softly.

No movement. Draco suddenly felt like he had yesterday morning. Weary, exhausted, and fifty years old. He took one of Barclay's small hands in his own adult ones and laid his head down next to them.

"Barclay," he whispered again.

Still nothing. Turning his face into the covers, clasping his son's hand to his cheek, Draco let fresh tears fall.

* * *

**To _mofo_ and _Erin Flynn_: Thanks, I'm glad you liked the last one. I'll try to keep it up!**


	16. Managing

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_My feeling is that there is nothing in life but refraining from hurting others, and comforting those who are sad.  
-Olive Schreiner_

* * *

Telephones were an extremely useful muggle invention. As George dialed and waited for the line at the Longbottom's to ring, he only hoped Neville would remember how to operate his and Ginny's.

One, two, three…_click_.

"Hello?" came the muffled voice of Neville. George sighed with relief.

"Nev! Hey, this is George. Is Hermione still there? I really need to speak with her."

"No, mate. I'm sorry. She left at least an hour ago…maybe more. Took Viola to the Burrow. Ginny took Ronald and went with her. I'm stuck here with the twins."

George could hear a shuffling on the other end and then the distant cries of a baby. He grinned to himself, he couldn't help it. The image of Neville playing Mr. Mom never failed to amuse him.

"Thanks, Neville. I'll check with Mum, then. Let me know if anything comes up- or anyone shows up."

"Right. Bye, then."

Another soft _click_. George sat back in his chair, thoughtful a moment, before standing up again. No use using the telephone for this one. His mum was far too old fashioned to contact by muggle technology. The floo would have to suffice. Seconds later, he was standing in the living room of his childhood home. He still spent the night for holidays or weekends on occasion, but it had been a while since he'd been back recently. With Percy still living there and the tension that had accrued between the two brothers in the past few weeks, George had done his best to avoid the man altogether. Unfortunately, that included avoiding (rather unwillingly) his mum's cooking, but it was a sacrifice he had to make.

Now, she came to the door of the kitchen, a bowl of cookie batter in hand, her grandson Ronald right behind, licking a large wooden spoon. Somewhere above him, there was a thundering of footsteps on the stairs and a door slammed.

He looked to Molly, puzzled. She smiled sweetly; it was the smile reserved for moments right after she'd chastised one of her sons. A hint of evil lurked around its corners.

"Just Percy, dear. Ignore him."

George shivered, but did as he was told. "So where are Ginny and Hermione, Mum? I really need to talk to Hermione, mostly."

His mother frowned. "Those girls. I know Hermione isn't doing so well, but honestly. She should've left Viola here, at least." Her hands stirred the batter a little more viciously. George sighed.

"That's neither here nor there, Mum. I just need to know where she is. I'll send Ginny and Viola back as soon as I find her, I promise."

"They took off for the hospital," she said, turning back towards the kitchen. "Now, wouldn't you like to have some lunch before you head off again to find them?" She walked back out to the living room again. "George? George?"

Ronald smiled up at her. He threw his hands in the air, mimicking a cloud of smoke. "Whoosh!" was all he said. Then he continued to lick his spoon.

Molly's frown grew deeper. "Those children- honestly!" She hastily glanced at the clock on her wall. George's hand, at least, pointed to relative safety. Whatever that meant. She exchanged spoons with Ronald for a freshly battered one.

"Honestly!" she continued to huff, the cookies swiftly becoming the smoothest in Britain.

* * *

Keeping his son's hand next to his cheek, Draco finally began speaking to him. He'd read somewhere once that even coma victims were supposed to be able to hear people speaking to them. That it was supposed to help, or something like that. He took a deep breath and steeled himself to speak clearly. He wanted Barclay to be able to hear him properly.

"Barclay," he started, "I want you to know that none of this is your fault. I want you to understand that, first of all, because it's important you know _none _of this is your fault. Sometimes horrible things happen, even to good people-," he choked up a little, thinking of Potter, and of Hermione. "But that doesn't mean it's anyone's fault. Second, I want you to know that your mother _loved you_ with all her heart. I think, sometimes, that she loved you more than me, even. That's alright with me, I don't mind. Because I love you just as much as she did."

He paused, choosing his next words. "Even people who didn't know you at all loved you, Barclay. They loved you enough to save you during that terrible accident. And I know I can't really talk about this with you right now, but when- _when_- you get better, we'll have a very long conversation about all these things. For right now, though," he kissed his son's hand, "just keep in mind that I love you and that I need you to pull through for me. Your mother wants you to pull through as well, I'm fairly sure- wherever she is- so don't go anywhere. Come back when you're ready and I promise I'll be here; and I'll still love you just as much; and we'll have a long talk. We'll have several long talks, as many as you like. Okay?"

Draco waited the space of several heartbeats before laying his son's hand back down. He didn't know what he'd been expecting; maybe some miracle, like for Barclay to open his eyes and answer him.

When it didn't happen, Draco stood up and laid a hand gently on his son's cheek before bending over and kissing the boy's warm and ashen forehead.

Still nothing. Well. That was all he could do for now, was talk and make empty promises and wait for Ornella to arrive so he could turn over his watch. The boy would either heal or he wouldn't- the latter was not an outcome he wanted to consider, but he knew from the charts how bad the injuries had been. It was a miracle they hadn't been any worse. _No, that was no miracle. That was Potter. If Potter hadn't been there, they would have been much worse. _

But worrying and carrying on wouldn't do Barclay any good. He needed answers, he needed quiet time to heal and recover. Things that were likely to take a while, if he survived. If he ever woke up. Draco patted his pockets for a handkerchief. None. _Figures. Well, what he needs now is support, not tears anyhow. _He blinked back the moisture in his eyes and took a deep breath. Stroking his son's hair once more, he straightened himself out.

"I'll come to visit you after work is over for the day. And then I'll come back tomorrow morning, before work. I promise you won't be alone for long, Barclay."

Then, placing one last kiss on his son's head, he walked to the door. Opening it, he glanced out. He could see Ginny and Hermione standing a ways down the hall. Viola was perched on Hermione's hip and she was speaking in hushed tones to her daughter. The little girl was smiling again.

Unbeknownst to himself, a weak smile mirrored itself on his face. The corners of his mouth crept upward. So, she was a fighter like her mother. Always finding hope in the face of complete loss.

And she did look lost, not at all like the fiery, know it all bookworm from their school days- from even _two_ days ago. She'd always had a plan back then- an answer, a solution. Now what did she have? Nothing, he suspected. He thought to the books that lay, most probably unpacked, in the back of his Rolls. He hadn't been back to his town house to get them yet, but he suspected they'd be necessary soon. He had walked out on George while the man had been in the middle of working out some solutions, supposedly, and he fully expected to see the man come bursting in the doors of the unit any minute now.

These were the moments a ministry version of the dark mark would come in handy. Or those ridiculous coins that ragtag Dumbledore's Army had used. Anything would be better than the state of limbo they were being kept in now. _Wait. That's actually a rather good idea. _

Draco suddenly forgot to keep his mouth shut. He started to call her _Granger _again in his excitement, but remembered what she'd said. He tested out her name on his lips again.

"Hermione?" It came out tentatively and not at all like the assertive question he meant it to be. She looked up towards him anyway, before handing Viola over to Ginny and heading back down the hall.

"What is it, Draco? Ginny said she owled his grandmother for you. She wanted to let you know."

He waved in thanks at Ginny, who inclined her head before turning back to Viola. Draco let his eyes fall back to Hermione, who was now standing before him.

"Listen, I was just thinking about how difficult it's been recently with all the travel restrictions and these ridiculous 'top secret' clearances to communicate with one another when ministry members are separated-," he paused, searching her face to make sure she followed.

Hermione frowned. "Draco, you _can _take two seconds out of work to meet with a doctor about your son's condition, you _do _know that, right? Not everything is about work!"

He sighed and put his face in his hands. _Merlin_. "Hermione, I will speak with him- _or her_-," he added, noting the extra glare from the petite witch. "But for right now, just listen, please. What if we charmed objects- much like what you did fifth year, with that army?"

It was almost funny, the way the switch flicked on behind her eyes. He could see them light up as she caught hold of the idea. She suddenly didn't look quite as lost. In fact, she was almost smiling now.

"Draco, that's a wonderful idea! It would be much more practical than having to send off a patronus- obviously we can't use those all the time, there'd be too many compromised muggles- but yes, that's a very _smart _thought!"

For one wild and extremely tempting moment, Draco thought she was going to hug him. He almost sighed with relief when she didn't. Whatever he was feeling right now, it didn't need to be _that. _Barclay had to be his focus, along with solving this mystery.

* * *

A clattering of the doors to the unit interrupted the awkward silence and George, followed by Ornella Parkinson and one healer, entered the dim hallway. Ornella ran straight for Draco and Hermione backed away from the scene. George followed her lead, letting the healer and the grandmother and her son-in-law have some private time. He went to stand next to Hermione. Ginny, who was still holding Viola, was pointing in some window farther down the hall. He glanced towards them pointedly before addressing Hermione.

"Mum would like to see those two back at The Burrow as soon as possible. I promised her I'd send them back once I'd found them," he murmured.

She smiled up at him, still in somewhat of a daze. "Sure. I trust Ronald has eaten most of the cookies? He was terrorizing Viola before we left."

"Of course," he replied, keeping his tone light. "but he and Mum were in the process of baking a fresh batch and you know Vi loves the attention."

They were quiet for a moment more before she spoke up again. "Draco had a good idea."

"Oh?"

"He suggested charming objects to carry about- kind of like a muggle beeper or cell phone system. It would make for easier communication in the ministry during these times. Especially when so many of us are going to be scattered."

George nodded. "That is- sounds like the coins we used."

She looked up to him again. "He mentioned that when he told me about it. I'm kind of surprised he remembers a detail like that." Her face darkened somewhat, obviously remembering which side he had been on at the time and the downfall it had led to. Harry had been so hurt that year- and the memories came flooding back, just when she didn't need them or want them.

Seeing the anguish on her face, George tucked her under his arm and led her back towards Ginny and Viola. His sister looked up and immediately took in Hermione's state. She glared at George.

"Don't look at me, darling sister mine," he said softly. Then he turned a smile towards his unofficial niece. The little girl smiled back.

"Uncle George!" she whimpered, and struggled from Ginny's arms. He took her readily and gave her a hug.

"You're going to have to leave soon. Grandmum Weasley is expecting you back, alright?"

She frowned and shook her head. "Is Mummy going?"

"No, but Aunt Ginny is."

"Then I'm not going either. I won't leave Mummy." Viola felt only a little bad. She didn't want to make a scene for mummy, but she also didn't see the sense in leaving. Her mummy needed her- she'd said so herself!

Hermione looked up from drying her eyes. "Oh, darling. You don't have to stay the whole day if you really don't want to. I just don't know if it's a good idea for you to stay with me. I'm going to be very busy just now."

Viola pouted stubbornly and crossed her arms. George laughed, causing the little girl's lower lip to stick out even farther. Hermione looked to the siblings for help, but Ginny only shrugged helplessly.

"I told you already, Hermione. She's welcome to stay with us as long as you do. Neville doesn't mind- I know he told you that himself."

George only smiled kindly. She frowned at him, but he ignored her. "Fine," she finally replied. "You can stay the night with me at Aunt Ginny's. But you need to spend the rest of the day at The Burrow, alright? And I'll pick you up once work is done for the evening."

Viola finally smiled again and George handed her back to Ginny, who let the girl say goodbye to her mother before starting to whisk her from the unit. George turned back to his assistant department head.

"Now, Hermione, as touching as all that was, and I mean that _most _sincerely, I've bought you and Malfoy and whichever unwitting assistants you choose a little time."

Hermione stared at him. "What do you mean?" she asked, eager for the answer. Whatever it was, it sounded distinctly hopeful and hope was something she could use a lot of. Casting a glance in Draco's direction, where Ginny was just exiting Barclay's room again with Viola, she thought she could name a few other people who could use a large serving of hope as well.

George followed her gaze and smiled softly. The head of Muggle Relation's shoulders were slumped over, listening to the doctor's report and it appeared as if the elderly Mrs. Parkinson was holding him up more than he was doing for her. In fact, Draco looked tired and worn and was definitely not at his best, but the look upon Hermione's face belied any disgust or hatred she'd ever avowed for the man. He'd never been one hundred percent sure of what had gone on between those two in their youth, but he was sure it accounted for the kindness evident on the witch's face at that moment. He wondered, then smiled at his own foolishness.

_No, it's too soon,_ he thought.

It was too soon byfar, yet…he _wondered_.

* * *

**To _mofo_: I'm so glad you liked it. I'll do my best to keep it coming. **


	17. Uneven Roads

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_Despair makes a despicable figure, and descends from a mean original.  
'Tis the offspring of fear, of laziness and impatience; it argues a defect of spirit and resolution, and oftentimes of honesty too.  
I would not despair, unless I saw misfortune recorded in the book of fate, and signed and sealed by necessity.  
-Collier_

* * *

Ornella turned back to Draco as soon as the healer had left. Both their faces seemed a little less worry free. While the doctor hadn't made any promises, he had said that the outlook was good and to keep in mind that since they had induced the coma, Barclay's chances for coming out of it were much better. The down side was that it could take another three weeks for him to be healed enough to come off the sedatives. Still, Ornella's face, at least, was resolute.

"I'll stay," she immediately offered. "Barclay shouldn't be alone."

Draco nodded, he'd been expecting this; hoping for it, actually. He still had work to do, as much as he wanted to stay with his little boy, and it needed doing right away. "Our- _my_ town house isn't too far from here; only a twenty minute drive. If you need to sleep, take a break, anything at all…please use it. Here, wait a minute. I have the key somewhere-," he searched his pockets and finally pulled it out. She took it gratefully.

"It would be difficult to commute between here and the cottage every day," she said quietly. Draco placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I'll be back this evening for a visit, but I suspect we'll be working around the clock to get this taken care of." He looked up the hall to where George was speaking softly to Hermione. The younger witch's face was animated and she was gesturing excitedly. That was a good sign, at least. Perhaps things wouldn't take as long as he thought. "I'll come tomorrow morning, too," he murmured, looking back down to Ornella.

She was wiping at her eyes with a handkerchief and nodding. "That's fine, Draco. I'll be here, I'm sure." He looked at her closely, concerned.

"As long as you promise to come in for meals and a rest at least once a day," he began, but she waved him away.

"I'll be _fine_. Now get going. I'll see you this evening."

Draco accepted her brief embrace and watched as she entered Barclay's room. Then he turned towards the others, who were making their way back down the corridor. He met them halfway.

"Walk with me," George said. Hermione was right beside him as they started for the exit.

"You looked excited back there," Draco remarked. His companions nodded.

"I've bought you some time for your research," George replied. "The minister has appointed me as acting vice minister and she's taken all my suggestions for evasive maneuvers. That includes securing the hospital. We've also shut down the wizarding road and rail ways in London. Evacuation of wizarding housing developments and apartment complexes is next. But," he warned, "this doesn't mean that the danger is gone completely. It just means that when the next collapse occurs, the damage will be less extensive and severe. We hope."

Hermione interrupted him and spoke directly to Draco. "But it does mean that we may have at least an extra couple of days to work with. Which is good, as long as everyone working on the case drinks coffee."

Draco nodded. "Sounds fine. Have you thought of anyone?"

"Hooper and Smith," she replied immediately. "We don't want too many people working on this, although there's already a team of warders working to secure the areas we can't evacuate…but George said the minister wants it kept quiet, mostly for the muggles' sakes. It's not like the Percy situation though," she added, seeing Draco's face darken. "She fully supports us."

"So not everyone in the ministry knows?" he asked George. George shook his head.

"That's not what I meant. Everyone knows that there's a dangerous and potentially disastrous situation we're working hard to fix…but those who aren't directly involved with it don't know the details. It actually works out fine. What we're trying to avoid is a leak to one of the papers. The last thing we need is for The Daily Prophet to start a rumor campaign and panic half of London. We need everyone to stay calm and collected if we're going to get this done is as short an amount of time as possible," the red haired man finished.

"Well, let's get back to the ministry," Draco replied. "Want a ride?" he asked George, who suddenly looked pale.

The older wizard shook his head. "Actually, I just remembered something…Neville was talking about an expose last night. I think I'd better go check on that situation if what we're worried about is an information leak. I'll meet you there," he called over his shoulder. Then he was gone, racing for the nearest exit.

Hermione looked after him thoughtfully for a moment before turning back to Draco. "I guess that settles it. Now will you let me drive?"

Draco glared at her as they exited the building and arrived at the vehicle. She glared back.

* * *

Two minutes later, keys in hand, Hermione unlocked the doors and slid in the driver's seat. Draco moped on the passenger side. _The witch really can be persuasive when she wants to be…and scary_, he thought to himself as the pulled away from the curb and moved at a slow pace down the street.

Well, to Draco it felt like a slow pace. To anyone else, she was doing the speed limit. After a few minutes of petulant silence on his part, he finally spoke.

"So, Hooper and Smith?" She nodded. He furrowed his brow in response. "I thought you didn't like Smith," he added.

"Zacharias Smith is a coward," she returned, keeping her eyes on the road, "but you place a great deal of trust in him and he _is _diligent when the occasion calls for it."

Draco nearly laughed. "Oh, right. He was in your little army, wasn't he?"

Hermione nodded tersely, pursing her lips. "As for Hooper," she continued, "he's young and has a great deal of admiration for George, as well as far more energy than I can seem to muster these days. He might not always understand exactly what's going on in the department, but he can read a book as well as the rest of them. He's very good at researching."

Draco fell silent again. He was a little concerned about what she'd said about Smith. She chose him because _he _trusted the man? Well, perhaps she was just trying to be fair; Hooper was from her department after all. He turned his thoughts to the young wizard. He didn't know him very well- he was pretty much an underling in George's department, but what he had seen of the young man didn't impress him. Ah well. She wasn't impressed by Smith, either, but was willing to take Draco's word for it.

He smirked involuntarily. Since when had she ever taken his word for something? Certainly not in their schooldays. His thoughts drifted to sixth year…she hadn't even believed him, even after all his talk, all his actions. He glanced over at her. She was staring straight ahead, hands gripping the wheel, eyes on the road. She hadn't broken a single traffic law yet.

Figured. No wonder she hadn't believed him. Or had she? It seemed so long ago now, but he could remember everything quite clearly, in spite of all that the future had brought. He still remembered the day that he hadn't been able to find that set of pictures. The little strip of photos taken at the Halloween Carnival sixth year had always sat in his nightstand drawer, beneath papers and handkerchiefs and the occasional book. Then, one day soon after Pansy had moved in, they had been gone. She'd been doing spring cleaning, she'd said. He hadn't asked her where the pictures were- it would've not only been rude but given him away completely. Besides, she's been pregnant with their first child at the time, and he hadn't really questioned it ever again. The images on that little piece of paper had eventually faded, too, to nothing more than a memory of tastes and sounds and feelings. And now…did any of it matter? He suddenly found himself wishing fiercely that he'd paid more attention to Pansy that night- that those photos had been of her sitting on his lap, smiling at him, hugging him.

Shaking himself from that train of thought, he realized he was still staring and looked away, focusing his eyes on the street in front of them. The rain was not coming down as heavily anymore, although it still dripped from the eaves of the houses that lined the street and ran into the gutters, carrying the filth of the previous day with it. A fine mist was rising in the air now, leaving windows foggy and a chill in the air. He shivered.

Hermione looked over to Draco, perplexed. He'd just spent several minutes staring at her…why? Was he upset with her choice of assistants? She saw no reason for him to be; she'd chosen his own right hand man, hadn't she? As she fretted, she let her mind wander a bit. The actions of driving were second nature to her, being a muggleborn and a practiced driver. It was easy to stop at all the proper lights and turn on her signal and remember to keep the wipers going without really thinking about any of those actions. Even though all she wanted was to rest her head against the window, body limp and mind blank, and stop thinking long enough to cry until she couldn't cry anymore, her hands stayed firmly on the wheel. Her eyes remained glued to the road before her.

It was not an easy road. At age twenty eight she was a widow and a single mother. She'd lost two of her best friends, and children were her only reminder of either now. Ronald…_Viola_…her daughter was her dearest possession now. How could she raise the girl without stifling her? How could she ever trust herself to make the child's home a happy and safe one until she was grown? Being honest with herself because it was the only option available at this point, she wasn't sure she could do it. Be mother _and _father. Supply her daughter with all the care and understanding and support she'd need in the coming years- not when she'd be thinking of Harry every time she looked at the girl- not when she'd spend all her day wishing violently that he would walk through the door of their flat, alive and vibrant as ever.

Her eyes watered somewhat and abruptly she pulled out of the line of traffic and parked in a spot by the curb. Her hands were trembling with the force it took to keep from bawling all over again. She could feel the old familiar signs of an anxiety attack creeping up- a tightness in her throat, the inability to breathe.

Draco looked up quickly, realizing they had stopped. No…not stopped. She had parked, but they hadn't arrived back at the ministry yet. He turned to her, a ready question dying upon his lips the moment he saw her.

She was fighting something, trembling with the effort it took to hold herself together. He reached a hand over to her and she shrank away.

"Don't touch me!" she cried, tears threatening to spill. "You'll only make it worse," she managed through gritted teeth. No, she couldn't handle human contact right now, she couldn't…handle…the tears spilled over the edge and she shrieked in frustration. "Damn it!" She beat her hands on the steering wheel.

Draco sat back a moment more before he reached across the seat and wrapped his arms about her. It wasn't an action that required any thought, either. It was simply the right thing to do. She didn't struggle against his embrace, just tried desperately to control her emotions, making her tremble even more.

"You're the one making it worse," he murmured against her hair. "If you need to cry, do it. It's better than holding it in and making the ink run on a report later, isn't it?"

That elicited a choked laugh. He felt her relax somewhat and smiled as she turned her face to his shoulder and continued to cry great, shaky sobs. He stroked her hair. Let her get his suit wet…they were the same clothes he'd worn yesterday anyway.

"I miss Pansy, too," he said softly. This remark made the sobbing increase again. Then she hiccupped and finally, after another few moments of gasping for breath and choking out the last sobs, she pulled away. He pulled a box of tissues from the back seat. She used five immediately.

Silence filled the vehicle as she righted herself and took several deep breaths. She turned her face to look at him. It was tear stained and her cheeks were splotchy, but it was one of the most beautiful things he thought he'd ever seen. He had to turn away awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," she sighed.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," he replied stiffly.

She smiled- a tiny curl of her lips, but a smile nonetheless. "Thank you," she whispered. He turned to face her once more and, after locking eyes for one long second, nodded in return.

Then, slowly, she turned the car back on and pulled away from the curb. They started street once again, their eyes on the road before them and their minds worlds apart.

* * *

**To _mofo_: Yeah, I have been. I can't seem to stay away, although I have midterms too, so expect it to slow a teensy bit. **

**To _Erin Flynn_: Thanks! Yeah, it's coming slowly but surely. Still, this thing will probably be thirty plus chapters, so not _too_ soon yet. **


	18. Dedication

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling. **

* * *

_I don't believe a man can consider himself fully content until he has done all he can to be of service to his employer.  
-James Stevens: The Remains of the Day_

* * *

Just as Hermione pulled into a space back at the visitors parking lot, she and Draco each had a realization. Draco's fell into the 'mental' category while Hermione's was of a more drastic sort. They turned to look at each other askew, eyes bright with shame and horror alike. 

"You first," they managed to blurt out at the same time. Hermione collapsed over the wheel, laughing. Draco let out a nervous chuckle and cleared his throat.

"It's the stupidest thing," he mumbled, "but I just realized that we came back here to start working when I left all the books we brought back yesterday at my house." He spread his hands. "I'm sorry. I'll go back to get them- you'd better go in and tell Hooper and Smith the news."

She looked up from her folded arms, still bent against the wheel. Her eyes were still red rimmed from her cry earlier- and probably her bad night of sleep- but she smiled anyhow. "No, that's alright. We'll need to work out a plan first. Besides, I don't relish giving Smith orders. We're technically equals and I don't think he takes kindly to all the time I take from him while working with you anyhow."

Draco snorted. "He'll never be your equal," he muttered. Hermione stared at him in surprise, the smile quivering, unsure of whether he was joking or not. Draco looked away. "Never mind. What's with me today?" he hesitated. "I suppose we should head in."

Nodding her assent, the corners of her mouth twitched again. "What's with today, today?" she murmured wryly. Now it was Draco's turn to stare.

"Pardon?" he asked, but she was already getting out of the vehicle. Draco realized he was still in his seat with the belt done up. He quickly followed her lead and stumbled from the vehicle after her. He didn't even notice his lack of coordination or balance- it was much like the state of his clothing; he could care less if he tripped over his own two feet today. Nothing else really mattered except his job, now.

"Wait," he called after her, "what were you going to say earlier?"

She turned and waited for him to catch up before they both headed for the entrance. He unconsciously matched his pace to hers as they moved.

"Oh, that," she said offhandedly enough, but he could see the worry lines forming between her brows even as she tried to keep a steady voice. "Well, it's just that what George said back at the hospital- I realized why it bothered me."

"What did he say that bothered you?"

"It was something about the wards and what buildings they were going to protect…he told me, before you got there, that we didn't need to worry about privately owned homes and businesses because those weren't affected by the wards; as in, they weren't what kept those places hidden. But he-."

"Was wrong," Draco interrupted her. "You told me yesterday that the wards not only protect some places specifically, but that for private residences and the like, they also extend the shelf life, so to speak, of those independently cast concealment spells."

"Do you see the problem?" she asked, her face a picture of concern now. He looked down at her.

"Yeah, I'm afraid that I do," he replied. Luckily, he knew that neither of them, nor even the Longbottoms, lived in just such a residence. But he was aware of plenty of others. After sharing a long look, he made a decision: Hermione was definitely not moving fast enough. Without another word he grabbed her hand and ran for the entrance, dragging her along behind him. She didn't protest.

* * *

Their footsteps echoed down the corridor and Draco burst through the doors of his department, Hermione in tow. She hadn't said a word as he'd dragged her along, forcing her shorter legs to keeps up with his long strides. She was fully aware of the need for immediate action. It wasn't as if he were hurting her, anyway. His hand was strong and warm around hers without pinching or breaking; he was moving more quickly, but not so badly that she couldn't still stay a step or two behind him; and he was careful not to yank her shoulder out of its socket. In contrast to all the other times she could recall him grabbing her unnecessarily, this instance was by far the gentlest. Of course, that thought only made her more aware of what had happened in the car on the way back. Her cheeks flushed bright red with the memory; she had actually broken down in front of Draco Malfoy and he had been _okay _with it. He'd even let her cry on his shoulder- he'd _wanted _her to! It was unbelievable. 

Unbelievable, but extremely kind and, though she'd never tell him this aloud, exactly what she'd needed. In fact, it had almost helped put things in perspective for her. Although she was quite sure she'd be bawling again tomorrow or even later that day, she now knew that if even _Draco _was willing to help support her that she could make it. Mainly because relying on Draco was scraping the bottom of her 'barrel of people that care about me.' _Why, think of all the other people who will do the same for you, if not more_, she told herself. It was a most comforting thought, indeed.

"Smith!" Draco barked, stopping abruptly. Hermione was thrown from her thoughts rather violently as she was propelled forward into Draco's back by the momentum. Her face crashed against his broad shoulders and she pushed herself away with her free hand, yanking her other hand out of his to clap them both over her injured nose. "What-?" he turned about to look down at her and his glare faded to mild amusement. He pulled out his wand.

"Are you okay? Let's see it," he commanded, his voice full of dry humor. Upon hearing him, Hermione glared over the edges of her hands. Rather than resist the urge to stamp her feet, this time she gave into it wholeheartedly.

She prepared to launch into a tirade about the virtues of walking more carefully, forgetting her grateful feelings of a moment ago, but got as far as, "Ou ahwaybe ou dib!" She stopped as she realized that "You always do this to me; why don't you ever watch what you're doing when you're around me, you horrible, horrible man," shouldn't sound like that. She settled for an extra dose of glares and foot stamping.

He struggled to keep from laughing and managed to let Hermione keep her dignity. Not even a smirk passed his lips. It was quite a feat of self control and Hermione let him push her hands from her nose long enough to inspect it before she attempted to push his wand away. The situation reminded her rather uncomfortably of…damn it, couldn't she ever just forget something? Just once? No, probably not. In fact, she still had lessons she'd had her second year of Hogwarts memorized. Pages of notes, floating around in her brain, just waiting to be accessed at some future date…she let out a little gasp and pushed his wand away again.

"Damn it, Granger!" he slipped. The minute the word had left his lips, Draco cringed and then lifted his wand once more. Maybe she'd let that one slide? He watched the storm clouds gather on her brow. Ah. No such luck.

"Drabo Balfoy! Keeb oor bloody wad away frob by mose! Id's nob as ib I haben't learmed how do do a heabing sbell or dwo in the dime simce ou lasd injureb be in a sibilar fashiom ad I'll habe ou mow dat I ding id's bery _boor _sbortsmanshib for ou do comdinue do call be by my baiden nabe as well! How bany dimes habe I rebinded ou dat by nabe ib Herbione Bodder now, id alwayb will be Herbione Bodder and dat noding ib goinb do chambe dat? Mow will ou ged dat bloody fing ow of by fabe!"

He stared at her for a minute as he heard a snort break free of Smith directly behind him. He turned around quickly, shooting the man a dirty look before he focused on Hermione once more. Merlin, but it was difficult not to laugh at that one. The desire to blurt out, _What the hell did you just say?_ was very, _very_ strong. His mouth worked furiously for a moment as he tried to control himself. She continued to glare at him, one hand upon her nose, the other upon her hip. She looked ridiculous. Finally, after several seconds more deliberation he spoke. He didn't laugh or even smile, which was a miracle, but there was a suspicious tremor to his voice.

"I apologize, Hermione. Now let me heal it for you. I can promise you, you won't get the spell right in the state you're currently in."

Although the glaring continued, she reluctantly lowered her hand and with a sigh, Draco quickly raised his wan to her nose once again. She wiggled her nose tentatively a few seconds later and then smiled with satisfaction before directing her glare upon him once again.

"Thank you. Now can we please get on with this? I need to go talk to George; he should be back from seeing Neville."

A voice from behind Draco interrupted them. It was Smith once more. "If he isn't here already, he won't be coming back."

Draco turned around and Hermione stepped around him. "Why not?" she asked.

Smith looked genuinely surprised neither of them knew. "The ministry is being evacuated for the rest of the day," he said. "After the warding team is finished with Mungo's, they're heading here. But there have been a few symptomatic sightings already and they want us to clear out just in case they don't make it here in time."

"You know," Draco said thoughtfully, "this actually makes our job a bit easier. Since the books and files we need are still in my car back at my townhouse from yesterday. We could just work from there…as long as you're okay with that." He turned to Hermione, waiting for her answer. She shrugged. Although she was fairly certain she'd prefer more neutral territory than spending time in Malfoy's house, it would have to do. After all, it wasn't like they could work at the Longbottoms…and she didn't relish returning to her flat, either.

"Fine," she murmured. "Let me call Hooper and George and I'll meet you at the car. Unless we can floo there?" she asked, voice hopeful.

Draco shook his head. "No- Pansy always insisted on a private floo. But let me call George. Just focus on getting Hooper and gathering the remaining paperwork we need. Alright?"

Hermione nodded at him and turned, leaving the way they'd come. Her pace wasn't much slower from their arrival. Draco watched as she disappeared out the doors. Then he turned back to Smith.

"How much time do we have? Do you have all your paperwork?"

Smith nodded, grinning easily. "Ten minutes, and all of it. I'll take it out- I assume you're using a ministry vehicle?"

Draco grimaced. "I suppose we should've mentioned that to her," he muttered. Smith shook his head.

"It's fine, anyone in her department will know- as long as they haven't left yet," he added.

Draco only nodded, apparently satisfied. He was already picking up the nearest phone and trying to remember if George had carried a cell phone with him that morning or not.

* * *

Hermione ran through the doors of her department and paused, glancing around. There was no greeting, no acknowledgement. Only…silence? She furrowed her brow, realizing she didn't see anyone and yet…wasn't she hearing something? It didn't sound quite like people, though. What was going on? Had everyone left already? 

Suddenly a voice from the back of the office caught her ear.

"Hello? Is someone out there?"

She almost gasped with relief when Hooper stepped from around a corner. Ah, she must've just been hearing him shuffle papers about. He smiled when he saw her.

"Ms. Potter!" he exclaimed. "I'm so glad you're here! I've just been collecting the last boxes of some of the paperwork we put together after the meeting two days ago- the one with the muggle department? I guess we really need to leave, but I thought I'd take some home and work on it in case we don't get back in to work today-," he broke off as she drew closer to his desk.

"No, no, that was a good idea," she replied, reassuring him as she saw the hesitation on his face. "In fact, we're going to keep working on it at Malfoy's house in the city. He has some other materials there. Not everyone will be there, but I can explain once we get these things out of here, alright?" She hefted a box in her arms, eager to leave the office. She wasn't sure what was going on, but it still held a vague sense of unease for her. Hooper merely nodded and followed suit.

"Okay," he responded, nodding in spite of his confusion. He smiled brightly anyway as he followed her back out into the hall and back up the halls and stairways until they reached the exit. It took them a few minutes, as Hooper had to stop and readjust the box in his arms every several yards. The feeling of unease continued to follow Hermione, as if something was not only now calling to her from the long shadows, but also watching her. It was uncanny and she realized why they needed to evacuate only too clearly.

* * *

Draco had the car pulled close to the inconspicuous exit. To any outsider, it looked as if they had stepped from a basement shop on a side street. Hermione continued up the stairs and handed off her box to Draco, who turned around and secured it in the trunk. Hooper paused on the steps behind her, face suddenly aghast. 

Draco turned to collect the other boxes and stopped. "What's wrong with him?" he asked Hermione. She turned to look at her companion.

"Hooper? What is it?" she demanded.

The young man had begun to sweat. "I- I forgot one of the files, Ms. Potter. It was in Mr. Weasley's office- he asked me to organize it for him yesterday and I left it there for him to look over-it was just a bunch of old witness accounts from Mysteries, but-," he would have continued to talk, but Hermione was already pushing past him down the stairs again.

Draco watched her in horror. There was no time left for this sort of thing; they had to leave _now_. "Hermione, what the hell do you think you're-," he began.

"If it was from the department of Mysteries, Draco, I'm pretty sure we need that. Those old fools haven't given us anything to work with. I can't believe George was holding out on us like this!"

"But there's no time-!"

"Codswollop," she replied coolly. "I want that box and I'm not about to let it be destroyed on 'accident,' while _conveniently_ no one is on watch, which I'm sure may very well happen once the Unspeakables realize we have something of theirs- sno matter how useless it is. Now shut up, I'll be back in two minutes," she tossed out as she entered the ministry once more.

Draco stared disbelievingly at the place she had just been. Had that really happened? Had she truly just gone back into the path of danger- the same path her husband had trod yesterday for the sake of his _son_- to rescue a pile of musty papers that _might _be completely useless? _How _had this happened? _And did she just say 'codswollop,' or did I imagine it? No one says that anymore!_ He turned to Hooper, his grey eyes stormy, and worked his jaw for a moment. Then he spoke slowly, as if the young man before him were a particularly stupid child.

"I haven't hated anyone simply for existing in a long time, Hooper, but I think I can make an exception for you," he stated calmly.

Hooper trembled and Smith hid a smirk behind a cough. Draco turned and glared at him again. "Get in the car," he growled at the two men. They swiftly obeyed, leaving Draco outside the car to watch impatiently- and anxiously- for Hermione's safe return.

* * *

**Author's Note: Cliffhanger? Yeah, but don't worry too much over it…or do; either way I'll get a decent night's sleep. **

**The line "What's with today, today?" is from the film Empire Records. I don't own it in anyway, but I like it.**

**Also, I apologize for that terribly translated paragraph of 'injured nose dialect.' It wasn't pleasant to write, either, but I wanted her to say something out loud right there and that's what appeared. I'd apologize for the length of it in general, except I found she couldn't say one thing without saying the other ten things. If you want the correctly spelt version, let me know and I'll add it on in an author's note or a reply or something. **

**To _mofo_: Yes, grown up Draco is nice. I think what I like best about him is how his basic components haven't changed, so much as shifted. Like the sweet, mature behavior we see was evident in the previous story (I hope) but only in small doses. Here, we get to see how his priorities have truly evolved with the proper nurturing. I enjoy that, personally. Then again, as always, I'm biased. **


	19. An Old Question

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**

* * *

**

_The person who tries to live alone will not succeed as a human being.  
His heart withers if it does not answer another heart.  
His mind shrinks away if he hears only the echoes of his own thoughts and finds no other inspiration.  
- Pearl S. Buck_

* * *

Hermione ran back the way she'd just come, cursing under her breath. But it wasn't her own stupidity or fear for her own safety she was upset about- instead, she was cursing young Hooper's forgetfulness and George's lapse in judgment. What had the man been thinking, not telling her about such an important set of documents? Leaving them in the hands of a barely trained assistant?

She slowed as she saw the door to her department just ahead. The unease she'd felt from the shadows in the halls earlier was amplified now and she wanted nothing more than to grab the box and leave. She put her hand on the door handle and gave it a tug. Wait…what was wrong with it? It seemed heavier than she remembered it being. It opened slowly to reveal a darkened room. That was funny…she couldn't remember turning the lights off. Hmm. Maybe Hooper had- he'd been behind her when they left, anyway. She felt around and flicked the switch, then made for the door in the back of the room that led to George's private office, not really stopping to look around her. It was only when she opened the door into George's office and turned on the lights again that she realized something was most definitely _not right_.

Her heart began pounding a little faster. This wasn't- it couldn't be…it didn't look quite like George's office. It wasn't that the furniture was in a different spot or that the same plaques and pictures were not hanging upon the walls, it all just seemed a little…_off_. She took a step back and surveyed the room carefully. Well, maybe she should just focus on grabbing the box and leaving. She knew she couldn't have much time left.

She spotted it in a corner next to a chair and reached for it with a sigh of relief. Just as her hands closed about the edges of it, the chair it was positioned next to shimmered. She hefted the box in her arms and straightened up. Shimmered? A _chair_? No, she couldn't have seen that right. She must be imagining things now.

At least, that was what she told herself until it happened again. That's when she shrieked and stumbled backwards into the door behind her…or she would've stumbled into the door- if it had been there. But when she turned around there was no door. In fact, there wasn't even a doorway. She gasped and looked around herself, forcing the panic away. She couldn't possibly be trapped- could she? Sure, she had been running out of time…she was struck with the realization that she actually didn't know exactly how much time she had left. And now there was no door. Was this how it happened, the 'apparating' of the buildings? Was this what a direct effect of the collapse of the wards looked like?

The thought sent the panic she was holding at bay rushing over the dyke and into her mind. She clutched the box to her person and backed away from the wall slowly. No. This couldn't be happening…was this what Harry had felt like? She supposed she should be grateful there wasn't an overlapping rail system. If there had been, she suspected she would have broken down right then and there. She suspected she wouldn't even still be alive. _Viola, _she thought, her mind foggy with anxiety. _I have to get out of here. This can't be the end. I'm pretty sure that Harry would kill me if he saw me in the afterlife without our daughter. _She laughed at her own thought and tried desperately to stem the flow of laughter. There was no time for hysteria right now.

Suddenly the wall in front of her shimmered and she could see the outline of a door: the door to George's office. With a yelp she leapt forward, hanging desperately onto the box and grabbed hold of the door knob, wrenching it open quickly before it could disappear again. But even as she stumbled through it she knew she was doomed. Instead of entering the outer offices, she only stepped out into a long and empty corridor.

Glancing both ways, she kept the screams that tried to bubble up from her throat mashed down; the panic that filled her mind was nothing- she had to get out. She had no choice! She paused in her movement to think- it was very important that she stay calm in these fleeting seconds so that she could find a way out. Yes, calm was _vital_ at this stage of the game.

She hefted the box in her arms once more and, after thinking another moment, she turned and started down the hall- it didn't matter which direction she went, as she had no idea where she was. She only knew with a frightened certainty that she had to keep moving.

Behind her, the door to George's office shimmered and disappeared once again.

* * *

Draco stopped his pacing. What was that? Had he just heard something?

The ground beneath his feet tremored lightly. Ah. He hadn't heard anything, he'd _felt_ it.

He suddenly turned and rapped harshly on the back window of the car behind him. Smith looked up, startled, and rolled it down.

"Malfoy?" he responded. Draco's face was a mess of worry and fear and his subordinate stared at him uncertainly.

"How much time does she have?" he asked, waving away Smith's inquiring glance. He could see past the other man to Hooper, who was shaking with worry. _I really think I should kill the idiot and put him out of his misery, _he thought blandly.

Smith answered quickly, "She doesn't."

"What?"

"She doesn't _have_ any time left. It's two minutes past the ten minute deadline. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that the ten minute deadline came direct from the aurors' analysis of how quickly it takes for things to start happening once people begin spotting shadows and the like," he added. Not that he cared or anything, but the Potter woman was brilliant- he'd always known it, even in school; and although he didn't particularly _like _her, he knew it would be a great loss to the ministry to lose her as well as her husband.

Draco's face paled at his words and he stood back from the window, jaw working, obviously considering something. Rather than say what was on his mind and admonish Malfoy _not _to go in after her, Smith crossed his arms and waited. Malfoy never listened to his suggestions anyway. He knew that was why the man liked having him as his second- he was good at following orders, as long as they didn't place him in personal danger.

Finally, Draco turned back around. "I'll be back in five or less," he tossed at them. "If you feel any more tremors, get the hell out of here," he finished. Then he, too, had disappeared into the building.

Smith stared after him a moment, then rolled up the window again and opened the car door.

"Where are you going?" Hooper asked in a shaky voice. Smith didn't look at him, but continued to get out, closing the door and opening the driver's side door instead. He slid in behind the wheel. The keys were in the ignition. Good.

He leaned the seat back and folded his hands under his head.

Hooper stared at him from the back seat and Smith finally answered.

"Waiting. We may need to make a quick getaway. Someone ought to be ready in the driver's seat."

Hooper's eyes grew wide and the young wizard looked away quickly, out his window. Silence descended on the cab. Smith was suddenly glad he couldn't feel tremors in the vehicle. It was a smooth ride, this car. Besides, he was pretty sure Malfoy wouldn't exactly thank him if he actually listened to the man and drove off.

Out on the main street, a light fog rose from the ground, but the rain clouds held off. Smith decided to take that as close to a good omen as they would get. Then he closed his eyes to wait.

* * *

Draco's feet pounded down an unfamiliar corridor as soon as he entered the ministry. So, the transformation- apparation- _whatever_ it was- was happening right that instance. It would have been fascinating to watch, he felt sure, if it weren't for the fact that he was terrified out of his mind. He shouted Hermione's name every few yards, hoping for a response.

Damn it, where _was_ she? Where could she possibly be, in this maze of corridors and doorways that led to nowhere? He continued to run, sending light ahead, wand well in front of himself. He skidded to a stop in front of another dead end and swore. It was almost as if- he barely wanted to think the words, but it was almost as if the walls were closing in, as if the ministry was being slowly compressed into a smaller and tighter space. If she was on a lower level, he didn't even know how he'd reach her. He hadn't seen a stairwell yet.

Turning around, he called her name again.

"Hermione! Answer me, damn you!" There was a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye and he whipped around only to see a shadow creeping along the wall, reaching for something…_reaching_? He rushed at the wall and beat a fist against it, calling for her again.

The shadow seemed to pause and Draco pounded against the wall again. Then suddenly the shadow was moving quickly and he ran after it, following the wall around a corner, hoping it was heading for some kind of door. He called her name the whole way, certain that he'd found her. She was trapped in some other part of the ministry, just on the other side of the blasted wall, he knew it.

There was a shout some ways ahead of him and he rushed around the last corner and promptly skidded to a stop. Another dead end and he could no longer see anything, but he heard her voice. He walked up to the wall again, knocking on it and trying desperately to answer her.

* * *

"Draco?" Hermione could barely hear him, but the pounding on the walls came through clearly. She was sure it was him now- not some figment of her imagination. Damn it, what was he thinking following her into the ministry that way? It was one thing for her to risk her own neck, but she'd thought Draco had better self preservation skills than that.

The pounding sounded again and she finally slowed to a stop. She couldn't see anything but for her wand, which she'd stuck into the box before her. All the lights had gone out just a few minutes before on her side of the wall. She didn't think it was good sign.

"Hold on! Can you hear me?" she asked through the wall. _Stupid, _she thought. _If you can't hear him what makes you think he can hear you?_

Then, suddenly, she heard him again- more clearly.

"_Hermione?_" came his voice, distant but there. She heard him knock on the walls again. She realized he was looking for a weak spot in the walls. Was he going to blast one down? But that might bring the whole thing down on them!

"_Stand back,_" she heard him say and she pounded on the wall in return.

"Stop it, Draco! You could bring down the whole structure!"

There was silence for a moment and then she heard him again. She almost giggled, he sounded so disgruntled. "_There's no other way,_" he replied.

She immediately plundered the depths of her mind for any spell that might work. Rather, any _other _spell that might work. She suddenly nodded and pounded again.

"_What?_" came the angry reply.

"_You _stand back; I have a better idea!" There was no reply and Hermione assumed he had acquiesced. She stood back, herself, balancing the box still in her hands precariously on one hip while grasping her wand with the other.

The problem with doorway and portal spells was that she didn't know what was on the other side of the wall. And she couldn't blast a hole, either, because it was too risky to damage the structure of an already mangled space. However, there was a spell…they'd learned it in Transfiguration her fifth year. It allowed the caster to create a doorway- basically, a simple opening- in an otherwise solid wall. The spell transfigured the material to curl over on itself, leaving a space to move through. Afterwards the wall would shift back into its proper shape. That way, the integrity of the wall's structure would be maintained without causing permanent damage.

She incanted the spell and watched as a small hole in the center of the wall appeared, slowly crushing the rest of the wall back in on itself. It grew large enough for her to crawl through and then stopped. She waited for something more to happen, but nothing did. Just then, Draco's face appeared in the small space.

"Hermione!" he gasped with obvious relief. Then, "Is this it?"

She glared at him and sighed. "It must be the changing nature of the ministry right now- it's counteracted the effects of the spell. Well, there's no hope for it. Help me through," she sighed, pushing the box at him first.

He took it and set it down before helping her squeeze through the hole. It was awkward, because it wasn't on the ground. If it had been, she could have gotten through on her own. As it was, he had to reach his hands through and help heft her up to the hole first, before helping tug her through.

She landed in his arms once she was through all the way. He smiled down at her, setting her on her feet quickly. "Thank Merlin you're alright," he murmured. Then he frowned.

The shouting began.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"Obviously more than you were- what are you playing at, following me in here?"

"You could have been killed, I had to come after you!"

"And what about your son? Did you think of that poor little boy at all?"

Draco clenched his fists and turned to pick up the box she'd been after. "About as much as you thought of that little girl of yours, I'm sure" he muttered as he hefted the box in his arms.

There was silence and Hermione stared hard at his back as he began moving back down the corridor. She knew he was right, of course, but it didn't change the fact that she was still angry at him. Coming to save the day again, as though she couldn't take care of herself or her own family…she swore under her breath as she ran into his back again. Her hands quickly went to her nose, covering it before there was a repeat of earlier.

"What is it?" she asked. This was the second time he'd stopped in the few minutes they'd begun walking back. She didn't recognize where they were, but she'd assumed he knew.

He turned around and eyed her a moment, then shifted the box easily under one arm and reached for her hand with the other. She snatched it away.

"What is it?" she asked, suspicious. He frowned again.

"Hermione, we're lost. The hallways have kept shifting. We're going to be boxed in pretty soon unless we do something now. We have to apparate."

She shook her head. "Not only is there a ban on it, but it's ridiculously dangerous! What if a wall were to shift in the middle of it- or you lost focus because of the changing-."

He interrupted her, his voice tired, but strangely calm. "That won't happen if we do it quickly enough. Now give me your hand."

She crossed her arms and shook her head. He sighed and lifted his hand towards her again.

"Hermione, we'll die in here anyway if we _don't _try it. And our best chance of surviving it is to do it together. Now, do you trust me?"

She looked up at him, towering over her with his broad shoulders, a patient expression on his face, his grey eyes determined. She didn't feel frightened or apprehensive like she would have when they were younger. She knew Draco had changed…that he took other's lives as seriously as he took his own these days. Still, she hesitated.

He smiled grimly. "Never mind. That was obviously the wrong question to ask. I meant to say, 'Now, do you want to see Viola again?'"

That did it. She put her hand in his without hesitation this time and he nodded, just as the structure around them gave a mighty groan and the ground beneath their feet trembled. Hermione froze and then grasped his hand in both of hers.

Draco looked about them quickly once the shaking stopped and then spoke. "Looks as if we'll just make it. Hold on tight," he murmured, giving her hand a small squeeze. She squeezed back, hoping he knew she _did _trust him…she just didn't want to say it aloud. After all the trials of the past two days, she'd undergone enough change to last a lifetime. She didn't want to let go of everything at once. Not yet.

If Draco knew what she was thinking, he gave no sign of it. Holding to her tightly, the box still under his other arm, he rolled his eyes heavenward, hoping for the best. _Just let me keep both my arms_, he begged. _I'd like to be able to hold my son again…and I think Pansy would murder me if anything more happened to this family. _He glanced at Hermione again who stood very still, her only movement a gentle gnawing upon her bottom lip. _And Potter would kill me if anything happened to this one. _She turned her face towards him and looked up to him with those chocolate brown eyes. Frightened, but looking to him with trust. His heart wrenched in his chest and he drew in a deep breath.

_Heaven help me, _he thought. It was time to make up for a past transgression. Perhaps now she would leave him be in his dreams.

Closing his eyes, he visualized the car and the side street it sat upon…the sidewalk, brick walled building, basement steps…and with a loud crack, they turned on the spot.

* * *

**To _mofo_: Yeah, she is stubborn! But it's research- she couldn't just leave it be, could she? Well, plus I needed this scene to help with a plot point. Heh; I'm just a regular manipulative author. **


	20. Replaced Lies

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_Better by far you should forget and smile than that you should remember and be sad.  
-Christina Georgina Rossetti_

* * *

Smith sat bolt upright as the pounding on the window next to him began. He looked over to see Draco staring at him, an angry furrow in his brow and a limp Hermione in his arms. He swore before unlocking the doors and watched as Draco turned about, quickly shoving himself and the woman in his arms in the back seat.

"Get out, Hooper!" the man snarled, and the younger wizard managed to stumble out and crawl in the front seat, making room for the other two in the back. The doors had barely closed before Smith was turning the engine over and jamming his foot on the gas. The car squealed from the side street, barely missing another car as it turned out into traffic.

"Merlin, Smith!" Draco called from the backseat as he shifted both woman and box off his lap.

He glanced at his employer from the rear view mirror and grinned. "You wanted a quick getaway, didn't you?" Smith watched with satisfaction as the other wizard's eyes narrowed even more before the man's face broke into an answering smirk.

"Just don't kill us getting back to the town house," he allowed.

"You apparated, didn't you?"

Draco was silent for a moment and all they could hear was the honk of another car's horn as Smith swerved in and out of traffic.

"Christ, Malfoy, you could have been-."

"I know that. It would've happened anyway if we hadn't, though."

"Well, what happened to her?"

Another moment of silence. Then, "A wall appeared out of nowhere just as we disapparated- at least, I think it was a wall." Draco glanced down at Hermione, who was now sleeping soundly against him, head lolling on his shoulder. "I'll get her some ice once we get there. I'm sure she'll be fine."

Smith nodded and turned his eyes back to the road. Hooper started to say something, but the older man quickly elbowed him, effectively shutting him up. Draco smiled at him gratefully before turning his attention to the woman beside him. The four shared a quiet, but tense ride the rest of the way…home? It felt strange to think of the almost empty town house as his home, but he supposed it would be best if he didn't move anytime soon. After all, when Barclay got out of the hospital it would be best for him to recover someplace familiar, wouldn't it? He supposed Ornella wouldn't mind coming to live with them for that duration, either.

Hermione stirred a bit and Draco glanced down at her again. A light sheen of sweat had broken out on her already pale brow and Draco groaned. Best get that ice for as quickly as possible. Shackleton would know what to do. He turned his face ahead again.

"Can you go any faster, Smith?" he called out.

Hooper gripped the sides of his seat as Smith grinned once more. "If that's what you want, sir."

A split second more, and then they sped down the street to the renewed honks of the other vehicles.

* * *

Hermione woke to a soft bed and cool cloth against her skin. She shifted her head and let out a soft moan before attempting to sit up. There was a quiet pop somewhere in the darkness of the room she was in and then a shuffle of feet.

"Who's there?"

The shuffling did not pause and was much closer now, but for some reason she didn't feel afraid. Perhaps the knock on her head had done more damage than she thought. There was a soft click and then her bedside was flooded with a low light. She looked over and could see a house elf standing there, a fresh bag of ice in his hands. She smiled and lifted a hand to her head.

"So I didn't dream that part," she murmured. The elf frowned.

"Master Draco and the others are in the dining room. Might I recommend eating something? Would you like tea?"

She managed to sit up this time and shook her head lightly, wincing as she did so. "No…I'll just have some water. Or coffee, thank you." She touched her head lightly once more, then reached out and took the proffered ice, holding it carefully to the side of her head.

The elf nodded, seeming a little more satisfied. "There is food and drink in the kitchen. I will prepare some for you. They are not eating in the dining room, as much as I encouraged them to do so. There are papers spread all over the place- it's a complete mess, but the master won't let me do anything about it; he says the study is too small for the amount of work they have to do…," the house elf continued to grumble, even as he made his way out the door, leaving Hermione to herself. She smiled and then slipped from the bed.

She wasn't really upset they'd gotten started without her- another possible side effect of the bump- but she was concerned about how they were treating Hooper. Besides, it wasn't too late yet- now that her eyes were opened fully, she could see the fading rays of the sun coming in through the window. So, it must have stopped raining long enough for the sun to come out. No matter, if she dug into the research now she was certain she could easily make up for the time she was asleep.

Taking the ice with her, she slowly, but steadily, made her way from the small bedroom.

She met an older woman on the stairs and instantly recognized her as Ornella Parkinson from earlier at the hospital. The elderly witch smiled in greeting and then frowned.

"You shouldn't be up yet," Ornella chastised her. Hermione smiled sheepishly.

"I need to help with the work load. Our time is limited."

The woman was quiet for a moment as she sized Hermione up. Then she spoke again, seemingly defeated. She shrugged and gave a great sigh as if to say, _these foolish young people will never listen to me anyways._

"Fine. Draco took the liberty of speaking with those Weasley women and they're going to bring your little girl here after she has dinner." She paused as Hermione took in her words and then continued, starting up the stairs past her, "The dining room is down the stairs and tow your left, one door up."

Hermione nodded and moved past, following her directions. So…Draco was having Viola moved here? She supposed it made sense, but it implied a level of familiarity with the man she wasn't yet sure she wanted to have. Still…spending the night under the same roof…why, that hadn't happened since- _Merlin_. She hissed and then moved into the dining room more quickly than she should've, forcing herself to grab the door frame for support.

Smith and Hooper looked up from their papers. Smith frowned at her. She frowned back.

"What are you doing up? That's a nasty bump you've got," he murmured before returning to his work. Hooper stood up.

"Is there something I can get you, Ms. Potter?" he asked. She shook her head carefully and looked about.

"Where's Draco?" she returned, her teeth gritted firmly against some residual pain. She clasped the ice closer to her head while waiting for a reply.

"Uh- getting more books from the library-."

"He's in the study," Smith interrupted smoothly, still not looking up. Hermione turned and left, still clutching the walls closest to her for support.

Hooper watched her go uncertainly. "Shouldn't you have- uh, dragged her back to bed or something?" he asked the man across from him as he sat back down. Smith snorted.

"Hooper," he muttered, "you have a lot to learn about that woman."

* * *

Draco looked up from his position on the floor as the door banged open further. He'd been kneeling in front of the shelves, trying to find his old copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ when Hermione entered, leaning heavily on the door.

"Hermione! Feeling better?" he remarked, smiling as he leapt easily to his feet.

She moaned and he moved over to her, lifting his wand to her head before she could make another move. In another few seconds the pounding in her head was reduced to a whisper. She frowned.

"I could've done that-."

"You have been in no shape to do any of those things today, Hermione," he smiled again. "But does that feel better?"

She nodded reluctantly, then remembered the reason for her visit, even as he was stacking some books in her hands and chattering excitedly about a potential lead.

"Oh, George called as well- he's helping the warders put the ministry back together- I let him know what you said about private charms and the like. But the nicest bit is that-," he stopped as he noticed the glower on her face growing. "What?"

"You took the liberty of having Ginny bring Viola over." It was a flat statement and Draco immediately knew something was wrong.

"Well…it made sense. There's no way you'll want to leave to go spend the night at Neville's, especially with the strides we're making- and you did promise her you'd see her tonight, so I just thought-."

She interrupted him again. "You had no right to do that, Draco."

"But-!"

"Did you ever stop to think about how I'd feel, having my only child spend the night under a Malfoy's roof? I may be able to handle it, but heaven forbid anything should happen! Can you imagine the nightmares- well, maybe you _can't_- but honestly, I'd rather her not grow up knowing about all that-!"

It was his turn to interrupt, this time with a strangled cry. He could barely believe his ears. Was she really doing this? Over something as simple as her daughter spending the night because he _knew _how she'd _promised _to see the girl tonight? He was only trying to help, to make them both happy, and this was his repayment? She was standing there, accusing him of wrongdoing just as she had for so many years in his dreams- as if his old death eater buddies would break out of Azkaban and come torture her again on _his _word. As if he thought that it would be fun to watch her tortured alongside her _four year old_, just for _old times' sake_.

It wasn't even the same _house_, for fuck's sake.

"Why?" he asked, anguish in his voice as he let his hands drop back down to his side. "Why do this now, bring it up again? I've paid that debt, haven't I? I saved you back there-," he paused, his jaw working slowly, as if he couldn't find the words to express himself.

Hermione turned her head somewhat and stared at him, eyes askance, from over her shoulder. Her petite frame was rigid with anger and her hands gripped the books she was holding tightly. "Some debts can never be paid," she hissed. "I already told you I trust you- what more do you want? Things will never be as they were between us. You may have changed, but only once you found something you wanted to protect- like I always knew you would. That something was never me, obviously."

He sucked in his breath as if she'd hit him with a spell. He took a step back. Was this the Hermione he knew and…well, that he knew? Truly? Her eyes were dark in the shadows, her mouth curving upward in a mean expression. "I did protect you," he protested. "I did all I could that night, if you wanted us all to get out of there alive. I did all I could at the _time_," he ended, his voice pleading.

"Liar!" she whipped about, dropping the books. They scattered to the floor behind her and he took another step back from her. If she was angry enough to drop her precious books in order to advance on him, he didn't want to be around when she decided to pull out her wand. "When they asked you if it was us and we all begged you- _we begged you_- to lie for us, all you did was say, 'Maybe,'" she paused, mocking his voice. He cringed to hear himself sound so whiny and uncertain…so devoid of any confidence or hubris at all, not to mention lacking emotion.

"Now tell me," she continued, "how is that saving us? How was that supposed to help us at all? You could've lied," she accused him. "You could've just told them you didn't recognize us and that we _weren't _who they thought we were and then-!"

He cut her off quickly, feeling his own blood begin to boil, though not for the wrong reasons.

"You fool!" he snarled at her, not bothering to mask the judicious anger in his voice. "You stupid, impetuous Gryffindor! If I had done that, they would have killed you on the spot, no questions asked! You would have been completely useless and they wouldn't have even bothered locking you up, calling the Dark Lord, or any of the other things that gave you time to plan your escape!"

A look of sudden and fearful understanding dawned upon Hermione's face, but he didn't let up.

"Now I'm _sorry _for what happened to you! I'm _sorry_, more than you will _ever _realize, that my vicious, lobotomized aunt tortured you- do you think I _liked _being there, watching you suffer that way? But I could do nothing! If I had stepped in against that, that _bitch_, she would have killed you before I could lift my wand! Don't you understand, Hermione? _I did all I could do at the time. _I was too young and too frightened of what they'd do to you if I did or said anything else- so I protected you the only way I knew how. I kept my mouth shut and my hands to myself. You didn't _know _those people like I did, Hermione. Thank Merlin you escaped before you _could_."

He paused, his breath shortened as he leaned over his desk, taking great gulps of air into his lungs. It had taken more of an effort than he'd expected to get through telling her that…to get through telling her the truth. Then he lifted his head and met her eyes. She was staring at him unblinkingly, tears threatening to spill down her face. He couldn't tell if it was still anger or something more.

"I never stopped trying to protect you-," he tried to say, but she let out a small shriek and shook her head violently.

"Don't you- don't say such things!" She was gasping for breath as he was, fighting against whatever emotion made her want to shed more tears. "Just stop talking- I don't want anymore of your explanations, Draco Malfoy. You've said enough."

He stared at her, startled, and then dropped into the chair behind him. So. She didn't believe him. Well, he couldn't pretend he hadn't expected that, at least. He gazed out the darkened window of the study and sat still and quiet. She would speak if she needed to. He'd said all there was to say anyhow.

There was only silence as rain began to pelt the window panes and slowly picked up speed, coming down faster and harder. Draco heard a slight shuffle and looked up again quickly only to find she had gone from the room.

So. She didn't believe him _and _she couldn't stand to be near him. Lovely.

He wondered how long it would take his heart to recover from this one. Although a part of him was fairly sure he was just fixating on her because it was easier than addressing his feelings over Pansy's death, another part of him knew that he'd always cared for, ever since sixth year. He hadn't gotten over her, as she'd so confidently reassured him he would; nor had he forgotten about her. The only thing that had come true was that living with that loss had grown easier in time. Other people and things had replaced the spaces she had filled in his empty soul…but as much as he had loved Pansy, she had never been a substitute for Hermione. He was well aware of that…and he thought his wife had probably been aware of it as well. He hoped desperately that it hadn't hurt her too much.

He'd overheard her talking to one of her girl friends once; the other witch had been bemoaning how her boyfriend at the time was always ogling other women. "So what?" Pansy had murmured, flipping her hair. When the girl had acted incredulous and brought up the touchy subject of Draco's not so happy _non _break-up with Hermione, Pansy had only laughed lightly. "Why should I care if he still fancies he holds a flame for her? I'm the one he married. I'm the one he chose. I have nothing to worry about."

And she hadn't, truly. Although Hermione filled Draco's unpleasant dreams, it was Pansy in his bed and she had also been the girl to help him pick up the pieces, without himself even realizing he needed that kind of help. He had loved her, too. He had loved them both.

Draco sighed and rose from his seat. Well. If she wasn't going to talk about this now- possibly never- he might as well get started on more research. They were getting close and there was no time for personal games just then.

He switched off the small lamp on his desk and closed the door to the study before making his way back down the hallway towards the dining room. Rain continued to pour down outside, keeping the sky low and black and the night dismal.

* * *

**To _mofo_: Another turning point, just for you! It may seem bad, but this is a good confrontation, trust me. **


	21. Two Steps

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source.  
It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing.  
-Anais Nin_

* * *

Hermione was already seated at the dining room table when Draco entered again with an armful of books. She didn't look up at him and he only dropped a few tomes by her side before shuffling over to his own seat. It was the most they acknowledged one another for the next two hours. Smith looked up occasionally, sending sly glances at them both (which they both ignored) and Hooper seemed oblivious to everything except Ornella Parkinson- who insisted on giving Shackleton a night off and cooked them dinner herself, instead.

They had shepherd's pie with blackberries and crème fraîche.

It was delicious.

Shortly after delivering up their late dinner, Ornella left again to go spend time with Barclay. She gave all four of them a hug and a kiss, much to Smith's chagrin, and was off without another word. Hermione watched her go with narrowed eyes. Although she had to admit that she appreciated the meal and kind words, she still wasn't sure she liked the woman's meddling in her affairs.

Still, she didn't have much time to reconsider Draco's offer of Viola spending the night, because no sooner had Ornella left than Ginny was through the fireplace, the little girl in her arms. There was the sound of much coughing from the living room and Draco looked up at her only once, as if to say, _well, why don't you go take care of her, you old bag?_

He wasn't really saying that- and it certainly wasn't what he meant, but Hermione's feelings were so confused that she wasn't sure of anything just then. She got up and went out of the dining room anyhow, though. Hooper watched her go, a question on his lips. Draco glared at him and the man shut his mouth and returned to his papers.

Once she was out of the room, Hermione rushed towards the living room and practically threw herself upon her family. Viola hugged her mother tight round the neck and began crying almost immediately. Ginny sighed and looked down at them both.

"She's been like that all afternoon, Hermione. I really don't think it's a good idea for her to be away from you any longer."

"But, Gin, I'm so busy right now- there's no time for this-."

"I know that!" her friend snapped, then paused, smiling guiltily. "I'm sorry, Hermione. But you have to understand…there is no _appropriate_ or _inappropriate_ grieving period for a four year old. She only knows-."

This time, Ginny was interrupted by Viola, who turned about in her mother's arms.

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" she wailed. "I know everyone is too busy to just sit and be with me! But what about poor Barclay? _He_ lost _his_ mummy _and_ he's in the hospital, too! But everyone's too busy for him as well and I don't even _feel_ like I still have a mummy of my _own_!"

At that, Hermione and Viola both began crying; with the older witch hugging her daughter and trying to say soothing things around her sobs; and the little girl clinging tightly to her mummy while stomping her little feet as fast and as hard as she could.

It was quite the sight to see…and one which Ginny desperately hoped she never had to experience either again or for herself. It looked terribly painful and dehydrating for both parties.

She finally decided she'd better say something before one or both of them passed out from their efforts.

"Hermione, where is that pale weasel of yours?"

Hermione stifled a laugh into her daughter's hair and Viola stomped a little harder. She tried to speak around the black fuzz in her mouth and ignore the _yours_ that rolled so easily off Ginny's tongue.

"The dining room, Ginny." Her friend nodded and made her way past them, pausing to give Viola a pat on the head and then she left mother and daughter alone.

Hermione held Viola away from her and smiled gently. "Now, would you like to see where you're spending the night with me? I promise you can stay with me as long as I'm here- but _you _have to promise me not to throw another tantrum like that. You know I'll _always _be your mummy, darling."

Viola nodded and wiped her face with one small fist. "I know, Mummy. I _am _sorry. But I _missed _you all day today! And Grandmum Weasely wouldn't even let me go back to see Barclay!"

"Well, perhaps I can speak to his father about that and we can go later on- maybe not until tomorrow, though," she added as she saw her girl's face light up. "And _please _be kind to her, darling. She cares about you very much and she's always been one of my greatest friends. She is- _was_ one of your father's greatest friends."

At that, Viola pouted again but managed to keep her tears at bay. She nodded bravely and promised to be good and then Hermione swept her up into her arms and took her up the stairs. Perhaps…_perhaps_, things wouldn't be so bad after all. Perhaps Draco had been right.

She stifled the snort in her nose and shook her head. No, Draco was never right, the bastard. Just because he'd said both some very nice- and very horrid- things to her earlier did not mean he was right, by any means. He hadn't changed character quite soon enough, had he? Just soon enough to save his own family's hide.

_Stop that. That's quite enough of that, Hermione. Just admit what's really bothering you: the fact that he says he's been in love with you ever since then. That he really did care about you back then and he never stopped._

It made her stomach feel queasy, that knowledge. Oh, she wasn't about to stand there and tell him that he didn't really care about her- she'd learned her lesson all those years ago in _that _department- but she did hope he realized he was just distraught over Pansy's death…the way she was taken over at Harry's. To know that one's spouse, whom you'd loved and cherished for years and expected to spend the rest of your life with, would never walk through the front door again- it was too much. It was enough to make one want to go rushing off to find the last person one cared about, the last person you'd thought you loved and to find refuge in the knowledge that you wouldn't be alone, after all…

She thought, at least, that maybe that was what Draco was doing, convincing himself he'd always protected her. It was almost laughable, anyway! He hadn't been around for more than half the adventures and trials she'd had in the time since they'd parted, although…although he had held information about her. And he had been questioned by the Death Eaters on more than one occasion, especially after he and Pansy had tried to flee.

So, perhaps that was what he'd meant. Still, it was a poor excuse for not protecting one's own family more than some old love affair that had never even amounted to anything. Thoughtful, Hermione put Viola to bed and promised to be up to visit her again in another couple of hours and would she _please _try to sleep?

The little girl yawned convincingly enough and Hermione tiptoed from the room, closing the door behind her. She was met in the hall by Smith's shout.

"Potter, we've found something!"

She drew a hand across the small of her back wearily and leant over the railing. "Another something or the same something?"

His face was tilted upwards, looking towards her as he thought for a minute. "Hmm. Another something, I suppose. Anyhow, come down. Malfoy's getting antsy and Hooper is about to loose his head, I think."

Hermione shook her head and concealed a smile. It wouldn't do to let her office members get eaten alive by the mighty dragon anytime soon.

"Tell him that Ornella left more food in the kitchen if he's that hungry!" she replied and then started down the stairs.

Smith laughed and disappeared into the dining room with Hermione following him a few seconds later.

* * *

"Well, what is it, then?" she asked to the room of men. Draco didn't look up from his papers and Hooper came around instead, holding up a book and a clipboard.

"It's this, you see," he said, voice nervous. "We discovered the approximate dates of creation and the maintenance schedule a few hours ago, but didn't have the point of origin. This book, however, pinpoints it as the Department of Mysteries. There was some kind of transmission of the spell set up using mirrors and cauldrons and the like, in order to get it around the whole of London, and it was supposed to expand with the changing borders."

Hermione read through the page a few times before looking up. "But the ministry was nearly demolished by the collapse earlier today. Doesn't that mean we won't have access to anything down there? Is there even anything left of the ministry?"

Draco finally spoke, although he kept his eyes on the book before him. He continued making little tick marks against a piece of paper as his eyes flicked back and forth between the two.

"George told me that the team they have working to secure the area are also trying to reverse the damage. He wasn't able to tell me anything about the Department of Mysteries, but he did say it seems to be going alright. He also said that long term damage to the property probably won't amount to much more than a shifty wall or two; much like the staircases at Hogwarts."

Hermione snapped her eyes over to him and grinned. "The staircases- that's it!"

He finally looked up, startled from his stoicism. Smith eyed her, amused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the staircases have nothing to do with it," Hermione said, blushing, but I bet anything that part of the way the way they grounded the wards was by using outlying monuments and buildings."

"Like Hogwarts," Draco murmured, eyes widening. Hermione nodded at him.

"Exactly. It only makes sense, doesn't it, that they'd need something on which to anchor all points of the ward system? Which would explain why some of the accidents have seemed as though other buildings and whatnot are apparating into the same space while some of the other incidents are simply an explosion of matter into a small space. So at the same time the wards are collapsing and forcing things into the same space, they're also pulling in their anchors from wherever they are. Like a collapsing tent." Hermione had a vision of the many times they had trouble putting up camp the year she and the others were searching for the horcruxes and smiled painfully. It was hard to believe those days were truly behind her, now. That neither Harry or Ron were ever coming back. That her last link with the days of the 'golden trio' was gone forever.

The loss of it seemed to leave a gaping hole in her chest and she worked hard to pull herself together as the others continued to talk…as though nothing was wrong, after all, except their current mission to save London.

Smith nodded. "So the city is a massive campground."

"And some of the spikes have already been pulled in," Hermione reminded them.

"Merlin, this just gets worse and worse, doesn't it?" Draco muttered, slamming the book shut which he'd been so carefully underlining in.

"It's not so terrible, really," Hermione smiled wanly. "It just means that in addition to figuring out the spell they used, we have to figure out where the original anchor points are and try to recreate the sites. After all, we can't reuse the same ones if they've been destroyed."

"Are they outside London?" Hooper asked as he swiftly scribbled all the information down.

"Some of them will be, I'm sure. Others, like that apartment complex accident the other day, will be inside the city- probably in an outer district somewhere."

Hooper continued to scribble and Draco stood and began rummaging about in a box. "In that case, Hermione, you'd better come have a look at this," he called.

She walked over, hand still on the small of her back. "What is it?" she asked curiously.

"It's that box you rescued earlier," he murmured. "And it's not what we thought it was," he added, voice even lower. She leaned in.

"What is it, then?"

Draco's eyes glinted. "It's a record of employee reports from the Department of Mysteries regarding a team of spatiotemporal theorists that worked there from about nineteen thirty to nineteen seventy, when they were disbanded and most of them fired for improper experimentation with psychotropic drugs and time delayed spell casting."

She frowned and crossed her arms. "It sounds highly distasteful," she replied, wrinkling her nose.

"It is," he responded, handing her the box anyway. "But there is more than one passing remark made concerning a set of highly secretive wards in there as well."

Her eyes widened slightly and she reached a hand out, tugging some papers from its depths.

"Are you sure? Why didn't you say something sooner?" she accused, a frown settling on her face.

He stared at her for a moment and she glared back before she understood. "Oh," she mumbled. Of course. He'd been trying to talk to her earlier about it and she'd flown off the handle about death eaters. Well. _If he thinks I'm going to apologize, he's got another thing coming. He's the one who owes me an apology…with interest! _She harrumphed and settled back into a chair, papers in hand. Merlin, but her back was aching.

"We'll have to comb through them a little more. Maybe there's someone there who still knows something. Can we get George over here?" she asked, changing the subject.

Draco smiled wryly and nodded. "Fine. I'll see who I can reach. They should have finished up at the ministry by now, anyway. Smith!" he called.

The other man stood up again. "Yeah, yeah," he murmured, shifting a hand through his hair briefly, wearily. "I'm coming."

The two men exited the room and Hooper watched Hermione expectantly. She finally looked up, irritated.

"What is it?"

"Er…more coffee?"

"No, no more coffee," she practically growled. "Or else there's no telling what will happen. My brain feels like it wants to shoot from my head as it is. Caffeine is a bad idea right now." She snorted and shuffled some more papers in her hands, shifting in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. "And why does my back hurt so much? Merlin!"

Hooper watched her uncertainly for another few moments and then tilted his head to one side, as if listening for something. He spoke.

"What was that? I think I heard Smith calling for me, don't you? Think I'd better go see what he wants, yes. Hmm…good idea. I'll just be…moving along then, shall I?"

And then he dashed from his seat to the door and out into the hall. Hermione glanced up to find she was alone, glowered at the mess of books and papers on the table, and then settled back into the chair some more. She felt quite dissatisfied…not to mention depressed and all around _most _gloomy.

She shifted in her seat once more, angry with the straight back of the chair, and spoke into the silence of the room.

"_Why _does my seat have to be so- so _wooden_?"

The glower remained upon her brow the rest of the evening.

* * *

**AN: Sorry this chapter was missing for a while! Didn't realize. Thanks for letting me know. :)**


	22. Petite Chou

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.  
-Helen Keller_

* * *

"You know," Hermione spoke once again into what she thought was an empty room, "I'm pretty sure the only way we're going to be able to figure out where the anchors were is if we talk to someone who was directly involved. But according to these papers, they're all long since gone- from the wizarding world, at least."

"Is that so?" came a voice from the doorway. She looked up quickly to see Smith leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes narrowed momentarily and then she went back to her work.

"Yes, that is so," she replied stonily. "And it's something you'd all be aware of by now if you weren't off phoning and owling people all the time."

Smith stared at her. "You're the one who told us to go make ourselves useful!"

She glared back at him grumpily. "And now you need to be of a different kind of use! So what? I'm allowed to yank you around some, right? I _am _your superior in this situation."

His mouth dropped open, a mirror image of her own face. Neither could quite believe she'd just said that.

"Potter, what on earth is wrong with you tonight?" he asked, astonished.

It was entirely the wrong thing to say.

"Merlin! What's wrong with _me?_ What's wrong with you? My husband _died_ yesterday- or the day before, I don't even know what day it is at the moment; my daughter is scared and confused; _I'm _scared and confused; not to mention we haven't made any real progress on this damn case and time is running out! Now what do you want me to say to that, hmm? Should I pretend everything is perfect and that we'll save the day, as usual? I can't do that, I'm afraid, because it was never just _me _saving the day- that was Harry's job and he's _dead _now, so I really am quite beside myself at the moment!"

She had unwittingly stood up and her chest was heaving with the effort of finally letting go of everything she'd wanted to say for the last twenty-four hours. Smith stared back at her, looking a _teeny _bit ashamed of himself. But only a teeny bit. She glared at him and, to her surprise, he glared back with a rather calculating look in his eyes.

"Get a hold of yourself, Potter. We certainly won't save the day with you blathering on like that," he said firmly and then turned and walked out of the room again.

_That…that…I could kill him, I think. I really could this time. He's as bad as Draco, except he doesn't have any redeeming qualities, the two faced…_her mind went fuzzy and she suddenly felt very funny. She looked down at her hands, which were gripping the edge of the table firmly. The knuckles were white with strain.

_What on earth _is _wrong with me tonight? _was her last coherent thought before another wave of dizziness swept over her and she crumpled to the floor in a faint.

* * *

"So the ministry is back to normal, then? That's good. We'll need to make a visit there soon. We're making some real progress here, George," Draco spoke at the fireplace. George's face stared out at him.

"Shall I come over, then? Could you use my help?"

"Well, you are more familiar with the higher echelons at the ministry…you might know something about the department we don't already. Come over whenever you can, alright?"

George nodded. "I'll be over soon. How's Hermione?"

Draco's face softened. "Hanging in there for now. Just…come when you can."

"Right. Be over soon." He was gone with a flash of flame and Draco sat back on his heels, staring into the empty fireplace thoughtfully. Turning away, he stood and brushed off his knees.

"Smith?" he called, realizing the room was empty save himself. The other man peered about the doorframe.

"Sir?" he responded.

"Any more progress?"

Smith looked somewhat abashed. "She's not in a very good mood at the moment, I'm afraid. I went in to offer more help like you recommended and she about took my head off, Malfoy."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You said something to her."

"Of course I did! You think I'm just going to take abuse like that after all of the shit I've gotten for years? I don't need it from her, too! Besides, what are you, her protector now or something? Merlin, Malfoy, your wife's been dead just a little over twenty-four hours- stop moping around her like a damned lovesick-."

Smith didn't get to finish his sentence, as Draco's fist connected with his jaw in the middle of his tirade. He stumbled back a few feet and leant over a nearby chair, nursing his jaw with both hands.

"Merlin," he mumbled around what felt like a few loose teeth. Glancing up at Draco, he saw Hooper standing just behind the other wizard and glared. The smile which had been hovering on the younger man's lips disappeared and he backed out of the room slowly.

"I'll, uh…be going, then." Hooper scuttled from the room quickly and left them alone.

Draco looked to his second in command and grimaced. He was rubbing the knuckles of his hand gently.

"I'd apologize, Smith, but I can't say that I'm very sorry," he muttered.

Smith's brows lifted in surprise. "I wouldn't expect you to apologize, Malfoy. You always were a right git." He looked at him askew for a moment, continuing to nurse his jaw. "Still…_Granger_?"

Draco flushed lightly. "I won't ask you to understand, Smith. Just do your job and shut up. Stop pretending you know what went on between me and my wife."

Snickering, Smith winced and finally turned to leave. "Fine. I'm going to get some ice for this. I'll see you in a few." He made it as far as the door before Hooper rounded the corner again and collided with him. "You-!" he growled and Hooper cowered before looking around him to Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy, it's Ms. Potter- she's fainted, or something," he gasped out.

Draco's face went paler than usual and he pushed his way past the other two men quickly. "Hooper!" he barked. "Come with me." He called for his house elf as he made his way down the hall towards the dining room.

"Shackleton! Get water and ice. Meet me in the dining room."

Smith watched them go and sighed. Merlin, he supposed he'd really have to apologize to the woman, now. Well. Whatever was going on, at least _she _was trying to do her job, unlike some ridiculous _men _he knew. Honestly, was he the only one who wasn't in love with her? He got to his feet and followed them leisurely out the door, still head ed for the kitchen and first aid.

He hoped it wouldn't bruise too badly. Malfoy, after all, reserved his healing spells for the women he was madly in love with, it appeared.

He was fairly certain that list did not include himself.

* * *

So, for the second time in two days, Hermione found herself waking up in a darkened room in a strange bed in Malfoy's house. She wasn't sure how to feel about it, but this time, at least, someone was there when she awoke. She tried to sit up immediately and felt a firm hand on her shoulder, pressing her back upon the bed.

"What happened?" she murmured, lifting a hand to her head and feeling gently for lumps. She turned slightly and saw Draco sitting by her side. His face was grim.

"Not sure. Hooper ran into the study saying you were on the floor- he thought you'd fainted. I'm beginning to think we should have gone back to Mungo's to get that bump on your head looked at."

"What? You think I might have a concussion?" Her brow wrinkled and she looked away, hand working at her head, rubbing her tender scalp. Her face suddenly lit up and she looked over to him again. "Where is Smith? If he-," she paused as Draco shook his head.

"He's downstairs, working. I- er- dealt with him already." He flushed somewhat and glanced away, out a window. He could just see the first shades of grey littering the early morning sky.

Hermione stared at him quietly for a moment, her hand paused in its movement. "You- you did?" Draco nodded and she frowned at him. "But _why_? Oh, gods, Malfoy, you didn't piss him off, did you? He's bloody _important_!"

Draco's eyes widened and he had to push Hermione back down as she struggled to sit up once more. "Hermione, I don't understand…those things he said- will you _please_ stay down?"

She glared up at him and fought the urge to roll over. There was no need to be childish…but then why did she feel like a little girl when he looked at her that way? It made her feel safe, which in turn made her uncomfortable. She shouldn't be affected by him that way. Since when had Draco Malfoy made her feel safe and protected?

_Since the sixth year, apparently. You just never noticed because you had someone else at the time. _She growled at her inner voice and it shut up for the time being. She looked back at Draco and sighed.

"Look," her hand remained at her brow, "Smith said something earlier- I think he knows something about the Department of Mysteries…maybe he even knows someone who works there that could shed some light on the matter."

Draco sat back quickly, anger crossing his face. "What? And you think he's been keeping this from us all along? I'll find him right away. He'll talk soon enough." He stood up and Hermione reached out a hand, grabbing his arm as he turned away.

"No! Don't upset him anymore! Draco, you have to learn to be nice about these things. Besides, I don't think he was keeping anything from us purposefully. I doubt he even realizes how useful the information he has would be." She leaned back once more and shook her head. "No, just ask him about it casually. He's smart enough- that was never his problem. The right question will get his wheels turning. I'm sure he'll help us once he understands. _Please_, Draco? Play nice."

He looked down into her face and smiled softly. "Alright. I'll keep my hands to myself, since you asked so nicely."

"Good." She smiled in return, then began to sit up again. "Now, help me up. I feel fine, honest."

Draco was about to argue one more time when a shadow fell across the doorway, blocking the light from the hall.

"Oh, leave her be, Draco. Go interrogate Smith. I'll watch her for you."

"George!" Hermione exclaimed. "Oh, it's wonderful to see you!"

He stared at her in surprise. "And…you as well, Hermione." The red-head glanced to Draco, one eyebrow raised. The other man shrugged. The glance did not escape Hermione's notice and she looked from one man to the other, propped up on her elbows and feeling quite bewildered. No…not bewildered. _Annoyed_. Perhaps Irritated, even. And she'd been so happy to see George just a moment ago.

"Blast it all, what is it? Why are you two looking at one another like I'm a bizarre science experiment? Like I've just made some faux pas?" She frowned and managed to swing her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Er…I'll go talk to Smith," Draco murmured before landing a quick kiss on Hermione's head and then rushing from the room. She stared after him, bewildered once more.

She glared at George. "Why did he have to go and do that?"

He laughed. "Hermione, love, if you haven't figured that out by now, you are far more dense than Ron ever was." She continued to glare as he walked over and sat himself on the edge of the bed next to her.

"Now," he remarked, putting a hand on her shoulder, "I believe it's the general consensus of those around you that you go to Mungo's. You're acting peculiar, by all accounts and I need you working at the top of your game."

"I am not-," she stopped suddenly, the automatic argument dying on her lips.

Cramps in her back.

Uninspired irritation.

Equally uninspired happiness…and passing out wasn't something she did regularly. She hadn't hit her head _that _hard earlier, after all.

Oh, Merlin. Oh, _Harry._

She turned to George suddenly, panic on her face. Concern crossed his features and he frowned.

"What is it?"

"Oh, George," she mumbled, bringing a hand to her eyes to staunch the sudden flow of tears, "I think I do need to go to Mungo's, after all. Oh, Merlin!" She collapsed against his chest and he put his arm about her. It was his turn to feel bewildered. He wondered if she was simply experiencing a stage of grief or if it was something more.

By the way she was clinging to his shirt, it was probably something more, but he couldn't be certain.

_Hmm_.

This latest emergency would no doubt require the one person who knew more about women than he ever had…

He hoped his mum was awake.

* * *

**To_ mofo_: For the record, you _aren't_ dumb: even I get confused by the plot. Which is sad, but let's say that I'm stressed and overworked and that explains it, neh? I'm trying my best, I swear. It probably also doesn't help that updates are coming farther and farther apart, either. I'm sorry about that, but it can't be helped for now. Thank you so much for your support! I'll try to keep it up (and keep up with it).**


	23. Mending

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_Eckhart saw Hell too.  
He said: The only thing that burns in Hell is the part of you that won't let go of life, your memories, your attachments.  
They burn them all away. But they're not punishing you, he said.  
They're freeing your soul. So, if you're frightened of dying and... and you're holding on, you'll see devils tearing your life away. But if you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth.  
-Louis: Jacob's Ladder_

* * *

After flooing his mother, George went across the hall and took Draco aside. He'd left Hermione sitting quietly by Viola's bedside and wanted to get back to her quickly. His mother had said she would hurry, but he was wary of leaving her alone longer than necessary.

"Hermione, what is it?" he'd asked her the second she'd begun crying earlier. She had only gripped his shirtfront harder and shaken her head. "I need you to tell me, love," he'd murmured. "You're my number one girl- I'm worried about you and our work is far from done."

At that, she'd finally looked up at him, face stained with tears, but she'd only shaken her head again. "I can't say right now, George. I really would rather not say- after all, I haven't even been to the doctor yet…and if I don't say it out loud it's not quite real then, yet, is it?" By the time she'd finished softly, she was almost talking to herself. After another long silence he'd finally given her another hug and nodded.

"Alright. That's fine. We'll talk about it later, yeah? I'm going to get my mum to come over and take you to Mungo's. We'll still be here working when you get back. I'll just go have a word with Draco." She nodded in return at his words and he smiled. "There, now. I'll be back in a jiff." Then he'd left.

Now he was pulling Draco from Hooper's cowering side in order to tell him he was having his mum take Hermione to Mungo's for heaven only knew what reason. Draco seemed as unimpressed with his theories as he was.

"Concussion? Post Traumatic Stress? Delayed shock? Merlin take it, Draco, I have no idea what's wrong with her. She seems to have an idea but she won't talk to me about it. So let's just wait for her to come back from Mungo's and I'm sure she'll tell us if it's anything really important. I need you to stop focusing on her and start worrying about the case more. I'm sure she'd say the same thing."

Draco flushed and ran his hand over his hair wearily. "You're right, she would. I still don't like it."

"You don't have to. Just let things happen. Now, if I'm not mistaken, I think I hear Mum arriving, so I'm going to take care of things on this end and then I'll be back in to help out."

"Fine, just tell them to hurry it up." With a sigh, he turned back to Hooper and a large tome. Smith was sitting over some parchment, writing as quickly as his hand could move. George backed from the room and rushed upstairs to collect Hermione. When he reached the head of the stairs, he saw Hermione walking from the room, a tired little girl collected in her arms.

"Oh, no, you don't," he muttered and took Viola from her. "Where do you think you're going, munchkin?"

The little girl yawned and rubbed her eyes, then crossed her arms stubbornly. "Going with," she mumbled. "I won't leave Mummy."

Hermione shrugged and smiled weakly. "I can't do anything with her. She's as stubborn as…" her voice trailed off and she shrugged again. "Here, let me have her again. I'm fine, I promise, George."

"George! Hermione!" came a voice from just down the stairs. They both looked down and saw Mrs. Weasley. She smiled up them cautiously. "Is everything alright? Are you ready to go, my dear?"

Hermione nodded and retrieved her daughter. "Yes, I'm coming now, Molly."

George sighed and shook his head. If she insisted, there was nothing he could do about it, he supposed. At least she had agreed to go to the hospital at all. He followed her down the stairs and they reached the bottom just as Draco stepped from the dining room. He and Hermione looked at one another rather seriously for a moment before she turned back to Mrs. Weasley.

"Well, Molly, I'm ready. We probably ought to take a car, I suppose."

Molly's eyes widened slightly. It was obvious she'd been awoken by her son despite the way the sky was lightening into pale shades of rose and lavender. "You mean a muggle vehicle?"

George nodded. "Well, we don't know if it's a concussion or not- flooing and apparating probably aren't good ideas right now."

Hermione looked about the small group. "I can-." She was going to offer to drive, but Draco interrupted her.

"You know what? I'll drive. It's about morning and I promised Ornella and Barclay that I'd be in to see him before work today. So it's not a wasted trip, by any means. Besides, it's important we make sure one of our team members is okay. Right, George?"

Hermione frowned and was about to speak when George intervened. She settled for mouthing at Draco behind George's back. _What do you think you're doing? Have you talked to Smith yet?_

He nodded and gave Hermione a discreet thumbs up before turning his attention back to George. The red haired wizard was trying to remind him to keep his fancy automobile running at a minimum.

"Er…right. Well, just drive safely. Don't scare my mum!" George patted his mother on the shoulder and she frowned. He looked to Hermione, who was smiling wryly at him. Visions of his dad's old automobile floated through his mind and he suddenly found himself chuckling. Draco crossed his arms and smirked at them.

"Mummy, why is Uncle George laughing?" Viola suddenly piped up. Though she still looked extremely sleepy, she had perked up a bit after being shuffled from person to person. Hermione smiled at her.

George noticed his mum was staring at him sternly and he grinned. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who remembered his father's bizarre hobbies. "Oh, nothing, darling. Be good and take care of your mum," he finally answered.

* * *

Draco left ahead of Molly and Hermione, who was walking carefully ahead of the other woman. He helped her down the steps and went to open the car door.

"Front seat, please," she requested. A bumpy ride would probably not help the situation, she was sure. Draco jogged around the side of the car to open the door as she settled Viola into the back. After snapping the safety belt shut, she followed and slid into the passenger seat. He shut the door and walked back around to his side. Molly was still standing up on the front step, speaking quietly with George, who looked rather annoyed with his mother.

"George? Mrs. Weasley, are you ready?" he called. George looked up and waved, then turned from his mother and went back inside, shutting the door behind him. Molly looked after her son huffily for a moment before turning back to Draco.

"Yes, here I am," she murmured as she walked past him and settled herself in the back seat next to her unofficial granddaughter. The little girl looked up at her sleepily before snuggling under the older woman's arm and yawning. Molly smiled down at her as Draco slid into the driver's seat.

He eyed her in the rear view mirror for a moment before starting the car and pulling away from the curb. She was quiet as she held Viola. He didn't know what it was, but something about the look on George's face as he spoke to his mother only seconds ago bothered him. He wondered what was going through her mind and gazed over at Hermione as he started the car down the street.

His curly-haired, bookworm companion glanced over at him and smiled weakly.

"Tell me about Smith later?" she asked. Her voice was soft and she sounded tired. He smiled in return.

"Of course. After the doctors have finished with you." He paused thoughtfully, then spoke again. "Would Viola want to go see Barclay with me, do you think?" he asked tentatively.

Nothing but gratitude graced her features and she nodded. "That would be a very good idea, I think," she replied. She certainly didn't want her daughter there when the doctors gave her the "good" news. She didn't want anyone to know about it…not yet.

He smiled a little wider before turning his eyes back to the road. A bright sun was just peeking over the horizon, making the day seem far more promising than he knew it actually was, but…having Hermione next to him, ill or not, depending on him and _grateful_, well. While he didn't see much promise to the day, he did feel a little more confident that they would put things to right, that they would all survive and _more_. Hope was beginning to blossom and Draco found he was eager to see his son and get back to work.

Hermione watched Draco's face brighten considerably and felt her own heart lift somewhat. She was anxious and confused, true, but seeing one of her former classmates- enemy, stalker, _whatever_ he'd been- smiling at her and meaning it was encouraging. She still wasn't sure what she felt about his confession earlier, but she knew, without a word, that they were friends now. That they would _stay _friends.

She couldn't bring herself to think farther into the future than that. She wouldn't let herself go down that road. Right then, she needed answers and to finish her job. Then, _maybe_ she could think about what she was going to now that her life as she'd known it was over.

Maybe.

* * *

Once they arrived at the hospital, Hermione practically dragged Molly away after giving Viola a quick hug. She waved over her shoulder at Draco.

"We'll come meet you at Barclay's room," she called. He nodded and watched as they walked away towards the front desk. He looked down at the little girl and smiled. She looked up at him in return, craning her head backwards to see. She said one word.

"Barclay?"

Well, okay. It was really more of a question, possibly a demand, even. But he understood her perfectly and was happy to say he shared her sentiments.

He nodded at her and took her tiny hand in his.

"Barclay," he confirmed and they started down the hall.

* * *

They reached Barclay's room in a comfortable silence and Draco lifted Viola up to look through the window. She did not protest at being held and curled against his chest in what felt like a ridiculously satisfying manner to Draco. He smiled as he looked through the glass with her at his sleeping son.

Ornella was still sitting in a chair by the boy's bedside and she looked up quickly as Draco raised a hand and tapped on the glass. She smiled wearily and stood up, making her way to the door. She joined them in the hallway quickly. Draco looked to her and tried to keep a frown from her face.

"You didn't sleep at all last night, did you?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I couldn't have if I'd wanted to, Draco. He's my grandchild. He's the only family I have left. What if he'd woken up?"

His face softened. "You would have woken up too," he replied. "But never mind. Go refresh yourself. Viola has come to keep watch for you."

"Alright," she responded. "I'll be back soon."

The little girl lifted her head of dark curls and then pointed inside. "Can I go see now?" she asked. Draco nodded and lifted a hand at Ornella as the older woman walked away down the corridor.

"Yes. Do you want me to put you down?"

She was still looking away from him through the glass, but he could see her reflection. There were tears in the child's eyes and she was shaking her head. Her fists curled into his overcoat and he felt that tug on his heart that had grown so familiar over the years. He held Viola a little closer and tried to smile reassuringly. Of course she didn't want him to put her down. She'd lost her father two days ago and needed support. She needed someone to hold her, support her. He wondered if Hermione needed the same thing. He suspected that Viola shared many things with her mother. Didn't all girls need to be held quietly once in a while? To be reassured and told that everything would be okay eventually?

Pushing open the door to Barclay's room, he walked inside with his newfound responsibility and tugged the chair closer with his foot. Then he sat down and settled Viola on his lap. She reached forward over the bed and took one of his son's hands in hers.

"Barclay, I've come back with your Daddy," she said softly. She squeezed his hand gently and turned her head to look up Draco.

"Why isn't he okay yet?" she asked. Draco felt tears well in his own eyes and instead of answering reached his own hand around to cover hers and Barclay's with his. She turned back around and settled for watching him closely for any sign of movement. Draco's rested his chin on top of her nest of curls and she tightened her grip beneath his larger hand.

After a few minutes of silence she spoke once more. "Grown ups don't always know everything, do they?"

He squeezed their hands in response. "No, Viola, we don't."

She was quiet for another moment before speaking again. "Do you think, since they don't, that maybe Mummy is wrong, then? Maybe my Daddy isn't gone…maybe they're wrong-."

Draco went very still and she felt it, the stiffness of his hand over hers, the awkward silence that descended over the room. Quiet beeping was all that filled the space for what felt like an eternity to both father and child.

The tears she'd held back earlier began to roll down her cheeks and she tried to tug her hands free of his in order to wipe at her face, but he held tight and after several seconds, finally spoke.

"Viola…I'm so sorry." He removed his hands and turned her about on his lap so he could look her in the eye. She deserved to be treated like the smart little girl she was. She knew the truth, he could tell. She was just frightened of what it meant and was clinging to whatever hope she could…much like himself or her mother. He realized the entire situation must be very scary for her that she lost her father one day and barely had time to process it with her mother gone every spare second. It must be terrifying for her.

It was rather terrifying for them all, actually. He held her by the shoulders and spoke to her softly, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and using it to wipe her cheeks gently. She sniffled and stared up at him with large green eyes.

"I know that we adults aren't always right about everything, that we don't always know all the answers. But this is not one of those times. Viola…your mummy isn't wrong. I wish she were, for your sake, but she's not. Do you understand?"

She didn't respond to his question except to cry harder and lean into his arms. She curled up against him, handkerchief fisted into one hand and he let her. His arms circled her small form and held her tightly, letting her cry into his chest as he held back his own tears.

For the first time since he'd heard the news, Draco felt angry at Potter. How dare that man leave his family this way? How dare he? After taking Hermione away from him all those years ago, Draco had tried very hard to be fair about it. He'd tried not to hold it against Harry too much, but this…this was it.

_You've gone, Potter. You've left your family wide open. I won't let you hurt them this way. I won't let these wounds suffer and become infected. I'll heal them. You watch, from wherever you are: I'll heal your family's bleeding hearts. I'll take care of them. I'll steal them from under your shadow. It's your fault, I hope you understand that. You're the one who left, you bloody hero._

_I'll take them for myself, not to take care of in your place. Not to watch over for you, but for myself. I'll be the man to heal them._

Pansy's image floated into his mind and he could see her standing before him, smiling, asking that he be as happy as he was with her. Asking that he keep her son safe no matter what. That he keep _their _son safe, happy..._content_. It brought the tears that had yet to fall spilling out over his cheeks and rolling down his chin. He swore to himself and held Viola's small body tighter in the curve of his own. By god, he would not let this tragedy rule their lives. He would not let it rule _any _of their lives. With another shaky breath he addressed the ghost of Harry once more as his eyes swept over his son's broken, but mending, body.

_I'll heal myself._

* * *

**To _mofo_: Hermione will catch on soon enough; Draco won't let her ignore him, which is going to be a good thing for everyone, I think. Heh, I'm glad the elf thing doesn't confuse you anymore. I chose a name like that because I was sick of having to make up appropriate sounding house-elf names. It's harder than one might think to make up something that sounds like _Dobby_, but isn't. **

**To _Ashley_: Thank you! I'll try to keep it up. More subtlety is on the way.**


	24. Progress and News

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_Susannah, you deserve to be happy.  
-Alfred: Legends of the Fall_

* * *

Hermione thanked the doctor and listened as he left the exam room. She remained on the table, letting her heart rate slow to a crawl, letting her breath leave her body in long sighs until she felt like she was completely outside herself.

She wanted to be outside herself just then.

Eventually, after she had sat long enough and felt confident that she would not cry again; would not have a panic attack or fit, or collapse to the floor; she slipped from the table and drew her clothing back on, carefully removing the paper gown and folding it up. She set it on the end of the table and smoothed her hands over it a few times.

Molly sat in a chair in the corner of the exam room, a concerned look upon her face as she watched her young friend- the woman who was like a second daughter to her. Her face was entirely sympathetic and she wanted nothing more than to hold Hermione and reassure her; but she knew this was a moment that the witch before her needed to sort out for herself.

Finally, after several minutes of silence, Hermione turned to face the other woman. Her face was calm, but her eyes pled with the woman to support her, to give her the answers, to tell her things would be alright.

"Molly," she said softly, "please don't tell anyone."

The older woman only nodded and then smiled at her. "Of course dear, but…are you certain? Your friends could be a great help to you right now."

Hermione shook her head firmly and walked over, taking Molly's hands in her own. "Please, Molly. Please promise me. Promise you won't say anything just yet. Not until I'm ready. I will in a few days, I swear, but right now I have Viola, and the work, and I can't bear anyone to know yet."

"Oh, my dear," Molly's eyes brimmed with tears and she finally nodded once more before putting her arms around Hermione. "Of course. Whatever you need. I won't tell a soul until you say it's alright. It's your choice, Hermione, and I'll be here for you in the meantime. I promise."

Hermione smiled gratefully and hugged Molly in return. "Thank you," she murmured. "Thank you."

* * *

Some blocks away from the hospital, George was overseeing Hooper and Smith and grinning madly. He caught Smith glaring at him from the corner of his eye and shrugged. He couldn't help it, it seemed: baiting people was a beloved pastime, and Hooper was just so _easy_. Not to mention that even though Smith was glaring, he'd seen the blond idiot laughing earlier. He smirked in Smith's direction and the man looked down at his parchment once more, shaking his head. His lips were curled at the corners, though.

George looked towards Hooper again and clapped the small man on the back. "How's it going with that translation, Hooper?"

The younger wizard jumped at the hand on his shoulder and looked up at George guiltily. "Well, I'm afraid that Ms. Potter is better at Runes than I am, Sir," he replied. His eyes were swimming with tears from exhaustion. "And Smith says Mr. Malfoy is good at them as well, but…" his voice trailed off and he shrugged helplessly. "I'm doing my best, Sir," he finished eagerly, if warily.

George nodded and gave him an uncertain smile. Pestering the man was suddenly less than amusing. He stepped back from the table and began thinking. Who did he know who was good at Runes? Smith wasn't, obviously…perhaps Padma: Hermione had usually said decent things about the Ravenclaw and they needed someone they could trust on the team. _P…P…who else is there?_ he asked himself.

He was jerked from his thoughts by vibrations in his pocket. Reaching a hand in, he retrieved his emergency phone and flipped it open.

"Hello?" he answered quickly, lifting the small cell to his ear.

"Oy, Brother!"

George's face brightened. "Fred?" he asked. "What's happened now? What's going on?"

"Percy just showed up at the shop- do you know what time it is?"

"It's seven in the morning, Fred, late enough for even you to be up and about, you lazy slug."

There was a sound of frustration from the other end and George stifled a laugh.

"He's completely hammered, George! What the hell am I supposed to do with a pissed Percy?" came the shout.

George paused thoughtfully. _Percy, drunk? Wow. Bugger must have taken the demotion harder than I thought. Wait- _inspiration hit.

"Fred, can you bring him to Malfoy's town home?"

"What?"

"Please? You can floo with him, right? I'm pretty sure I just thought of a way he can start making up fro being such a bloody prat."

There was a silence and then some mild grumbling.

"Alright, but you owe me," Fred muttered. "It's not exactly fun, taking a drunk idiot through the floo."

George laughed again and grinned. "Thanks. And hey, at least I'll get him out of the shop, eh?"

Fred hung up without responding and George shut the phone with satisfaction. Of course, why hadn't he thought of it sooner? Percy, his previously _perfect _older brother, had taken almost every course he possibly could at Hogwarts.

That included Ancient Runes.

"What are you so pleased about?"

George looked up and caught Smith eyeing him. He smiled at the other man. "Fred is bringing Percy over to help with the runes. As long as you promise not to strangle him before I do, it's an excellent solution."

Smith snorted. "I don't think it's me strangling him you need to worry about. Have you thought about what will happen when Malfoy and Potter get back?"

George froze for a moment before relaxing back into an easy stance. He grinned. "Well, I can't say my brother won't deserve it," he tossed off and then sauntered from the room.

Hooper looked over to Smith until the other man glanced up from his work again.

"Worried about something?"

Hooper grimaced and finally shook his head, turning back to his books.

Smith rolled his eyes and looked back to his own papers. While he wasn't entirely pleased about the addition of Percy, he did trust George's judgment. Besides, perhaps the git's presence would help the young man build a backbone. He shook his head and continued to scratch at the scroll before him.

Before he'd left, Malfoy had asked him to remember if he had any connections to the ministry- family friends, relatives and the like. He'd said that Hermione had a hunch he knew something he wasn't telling.

"I don't know anything, Malfoy," he answered, shrugging. "What gave her that idea?"

"Something you said earlier," Draco replied. "She said you probably don't even realize you know it."

Smith rubbed his hand along the back of his neck- he'd been sitting here at the table ever since, trying to recall if he had any connections to the Department of Mysteries. That parchment in front of him was covered in names and ideas…but mostly doodles. He tried to remember again what he could've said in their earlier conversation that would've tipped her off to something like that.

"_You know," Hermione spoke, "I'm pretty sure the only way we're going to be able to figure out where the anchors were is if we talk to someone who was directly involved. But according to these papers, they're all long since gone- from the wizarding world, at least."_

"_Is that so?" Smith replied._

He knew he'd said that, but he'd only been…kidding…_hmm._ He looked back at his parchment and scratched his head a moment before lowering the pen to the paper once more. What had his aunt said once about Great Uncle Hezekiah? Worked in the Department of Mysteries, that's how his father had gotten a job with the ministry in his younger years, right? But aside from that, he really didn't know anything about his great uncle's work or even if the man was still alive! And considering most of his own relatives were dead now, he didn't know how he was supposed to get information that would be useful.

He leaned back from the paper and sighed. He really wasn't getting anywhere with this. It was like trying to stay awake in History of Magic class.

He suddenly sat bolt upright, the impact of his chair's legs into the hardwood beneath them giving the floor a good shake.

Hooper looked up from his work, startled. "What is it?" he asked the other man. Smith smiled and leaned forward.

"Binns," he said.

"What?" Hooper replied, puzzled.

Smith stood up and snatched up his parchment. If there was anyone who knew everyone and everything about the ministry, it was Professor Binns. The man was _dead_, for Merlin's sake. He'd seen half the wars and innovations of the wizarding world come to pass _personally_.

"Binns," he stated again, more clearly. "The professor of History of Magic at Hogwarts. I can't believe we didn't think of him sooner. But not only can he help us with the history of the wards, he can also help _me_ figure out…whatever it is Malfoy and Potter expect me to figure out. I'm going to go tell Weasley. You stay here for now and work on those runes."

With that, he left the room quickly with his parchment tucked under one arm. Hooper watched him go with apprehension. He wondered how he'd get to Hogwarts and back without losing too much precious time before shrugging and returning to his work. Smith would get an answer whether he was translating or not. Hooper assumed it would be better to translate than sit around uselessly. He put his quill back to the paper and continued his difficult, but soon to be manageable, work.

* * *

Draco looked up from Viola's hair as a knock sounded on the door of Barclay's room. Ornella walked back in quietly and leaned over to speak with him.

"The doctor is outside- he wants to speak with you about Barclay's progress. Can I take her for you?" She put her hands out, ready to hold the little girl, but Viola turned away and curled farther up against Draco. He smiled and shrugged.

"Sorry. I'm sure it's not a problem if she's with me, do you think?"

Ornella held up her hands. "It's your son's prognosis. I just thought it might be better…in case you hear any…" she hesitated and he frowned.

"I know. You're thinking if I hear bad news." Viola looked up at them both.

"I'm brave. I don't care what anyone says. Barclay will get better," she grouched and crossed her arms. Ornella looked upon her with sad eyes.

"It's best to think that way for now, I suppose. Still, don't you want to sit here and watch him with me? I'm sure Draco has many adult things to talk about with the healer," she responded. Viola looked at it uncertainly for a moment, then turned back to Barclay.

Balancing precariously on Draco's lap, she leaned over the space and against the bed, placing a kiss on Barclay's pale cheek before crawling back against his father. She looked up at Ornella again and glared.

"There. I said goodbye. I'm going with Mr. Malfoy."

Draco stifled a laugh and stood, still holding Viola. "Sorry, Ornella," he murmured. "I have to admit I'm rather glad of her presence just now. I don't mind her coming with me. Besides, her optimism is refreshing."

The older woman nodded and sighed, before pressing a kiss of her own to Draco's cheek. "Fine. I expect you to tell me all about it, though. I'll wait in here."

He smiled at her fondly and then left the room. The healer was standing a few feet away, looking through the observation window and jotting things down on a clipboard. The man looked over and smiled warmly.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. How are you?"

"Well enough," he replied, hefting Viola over to his other arm. The doctor eyed her for a moment.

"Is this girl also…"

"Oh, no!" Draco replied, flushing slightly. "A close friend's daughter. She's dealing with similar issues at the moment. We're all trading off watching each other's children, so to speak." The other wizard nodded and then turned back to the glass.

"I imagine there are many families doing the same right now," he responded. "Muggles and wizards alike. But," he continued, "we're here to talk about your son in particular, Mr. Malfoy."

"Is he getting better?" Viola suddenly spoke, looking from one man to the other. The healer smiled kindly at her.

"Yes, dear, he's getting better. In fact, Mr. Malfoy," he continued, "we expect we'll be able to bring him out of the coma much sooner than we expected. His magic is-." He was interrupted by a surprised shout from Draco, who took a step forward.

"He's got magic?"

The healer looked at him with some consternation. "Why yes, Mr. Malfoy, weren't you aware? Surely you didn't think your son was a squib?"

Draco flushed angrily. "We weren't sure what to think for the longest time. Our first was stillborn and Pansy was raising him to prepare us for the worst, but-."

The doctor held up a hand. "It's alright, sir, please don't get upset. I was merely surprised by your- well, it doesn't matter. Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I'm happy to say your son does have magic and plenty of it. It's what kept him alive at all earlier. Potter's body, the man he was found with, should have been-."

Draco interrupted him once more, his face suddenly pale. He walked back to the room and opened the door.

"Ornella, I need you to watch Viola after all."

"But I don't-!"

"Shh, darling," Draco murmured. "It's just there's a very adult thing I have to discuss right now. You heard the doctor already, Barclay's getting better. Please wait with his grandmother for me, okay?"

She looked over to the older woman and finally turned back to Draco and nodded. He sighed with relief and set her down, thanking Ornella with a nod as he turned and walked from the room once more. Viola stood by Ornella's chair and watched him leave before turning back to the older woman.

"You're his grandmother?" she asked, staring at the floor. Ornella nodded and waited. Viola scuffed her foot against the ground a few times before looking up once more. "I'm his school partner."

"Oh, is that so?" the grey haired woman replied, trying to look surprised. "Well, why don't you tell me all about what he's like at school, since you know him so well?"

Viola suddenly smiled up at her brilliantly and climbed upon her waiting lap. "As long as you tell me what he's like at home," she grinned. "He's always horribly rude!"

Ornella laughed and held Viola close, rocking her as they both watched over Barclay. "That sounds about right. Well, one day he came to visit with his mum…"

* * *

Draco let the door finish closing behind him, a smile at the corners of his mouth and walked back to the healer. The other man frowned.

"What was the matter?"

Draco shrugged, not wanting to divulge Viola's identity unnecessarily. He was sure, as the girl grew older, that being the only child of the Boy Who Lived (And Then Died) would be awkward for her.

"I just didn't want her to hear any gruesome details. What were you saying about Barclay's magic, earlier?"

"Ah, yes…well, it's because of his magic that both himself and Potter's body were not in worse shape when we found them. I'm sure you can imagine, being caught under tons of steel and concrete, with raging electrical fires and smoke all around that the burns most of the other victims received were deadly. Your son, however, came out with fewer and lesser degree burns as well as little to no smoke damage to his lungs. Additionally, Potter's body was extremely well preserved when we found them. What we think may have happened is that with his death, your boy was able to leech some of Potter's magic…now, don't get upset, Mr. Malfoy, please!"

Draco frowned. "How am I supposed to feel when you say something like that, then? Don't get upset, when you've just told me my son as good as stole magic?"

"It's not like that, Mr. Malfoy. It's more like what happens in a situation like that naturally. I'm sure Potter's magic was going haywire from the adrenaline and the wards collapsing to begin with; it would have been a natural thing for your son to procure some of the excess without meaning to. Besides, although he has magic of his own, he's far too young to have the control necessary to save himself that way. Without Potter's unwitting- or possibly he did know- help, he wouldn't have made it."

Draco turned away and looked in the window once again at his son's body. Barclay's breathing was more determined and steady than it had previously been and his color was better. He wasn't sweating as he had been, either. Over all, he was looking much better than he had just yesterday. _So…my son has some of Potter's magic? _He shook his head.

"This is impossible," he murmured.

The healer took a few steps forward and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, it's perfectly possible. Now, it may not be the same as when the Dark Lord transferred his powers to Potter, but yes. Because Potter saved your son, he awakened the boy's magic. Nothing very drastic, you understand. It's the kind of thing that happens in situations like this one. Now, to get back to Barclay…" he consulted his notes. "We should be able to wake him in another two days, if that's alright with you. From what we've seen and the test results, he should recover fully, except for the odd quirk now and then with his magical abilities. You understand?"

Draco nodded and after thanking the doctor, turned back to the observation window.

_Blast it. I'm always going to owe you, aren't I, Potter? Son of a…_he leant forward and rested his head on the glass, gazing at his son. Still, he was grateful. He was so very, very grateful. How could he ever begin to repay a debt such as this one?

He thought of Potter, black hair a mess, green eyes sparkling with anger and mischief. Then, suddenly, it was if he was there with his greatest rival. The hardest memory of all came flooding back. The time he'd had to grovel, to humble himself before a man he'd thought he hated.

"_And why do you need our help, Malfoy?" Harry asked him point blank. He wasn't even going to bait him, to ask why he'd come to them instead of his death eater buddies, to tell him that they'd never help the likes him. All he wanted to know was why._

_Draco raised his head and met the other man face to face. "My father wants to kill my wife," he muttered. "She's pregnant with our second child. I can't protect her alone."_

_Harry looked at him for a long moment before nodding. "Alright," he replied. "We'll take care of you."_

That had been it. No other questions. No requests, except that would he please stay away from his death eater friends and family until the war was over? That had been it…all Potter had needed to hear and then he'd been on their side, one of the good guys.

Draco owed the man his life and his family's life twice over. _Tell me, Potter, _he growled to himself, _how am I supposed to repay a debt like that?_

The answer came quickly and softly, on the breeze from an opened door. He looked up and down the hall to see Hermione and Molly entering the ward.

_Simple_, came the reply_, make her happy._

Draco jerked to attention and tilted his head. Where had that come from? He didn't know, but he felt it nudging at his heart and suddenly, before he realized what he was doing, he walked towards the petite widow. Her face was troubled and she looked up at him as he walked over, a question on her lips.

She didn't get to ask it because the minute he was close enough he enveloped her in a huge hug, his arms wrapping about her tightly so that her breath whooshed from her body as she was crushed into his embrace.

Neither one could breath for several moments.

Molly stood back, trying desperately not to squeak indignantly. Really, was that any way to treat a pregnant woman?

Luckily for them both, she kept her thoughts to herself and moved away towards Barclay's room. Hermione relaxed into Draco's embrace after several moments and he bent his head to her shoulder, closing his eyes. To be holding her that way…it was more than his heart could bear, just then. She seemed to sense his discomfort and finally made her own known.

Working her arms between them, she gently pushed him away. She didn't think she could handle being held that way just yet. While it was nice, she had to admit, what she really wanted was her husband, which wasn't going to be happening. _Ever_. She looked up into his face.

"Draco, what is it?" she murmured.

He looked away briefly as if gathering himself before he glanced back. He took a deep breath. "Barclay's going to be okay," he replied. "And…well, he's going to be okay."

Hermione's face lit up as much as it could just then. "Draco, I'm so glad." With that, she caught him quickly in a lighter, friendlier embrace and then stepped back. "That's wonderful news. Have you told Ornella?"

"Going to," he responded, shaking his head. Hermione smiled, though it was strained, and took his hand.

_It doesn't matter what news you just received, Hermione, _she told herself_. You need to be happy for your friends. _She looked into his face again.

"Well, come on then. I'll go with you."

He stared down at her a moment before nodding and smiling. "Thanks."

They walked down the hall after Mrs. Weasley's bustling form. Draco held Hermione's small hand tightly in his own. It felt lovely and he smiled a little wider. It didn't matter if neither of them were quite ready for intimacy yet. They were friends and that was enough for now. It was a step in the right direction.

_Simple? No, it won't be. It isn't. But I will any way. We'll make each other happy, someday. I can do that much for you, Potter._

Hermione's hand squeezed his own and he glanced down at her. She was looking straight ahead, but there was some color in her cheeks and she seemed better than she had been moments before. He smiled again and squeezed hers in return.

It wouldn't be simple to make this woman happy…but it would be greatly worth it.

* * *

**To _mofo:_ Of course! Would we expect anything less? **


	25. Keeping Ahead

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_When I look back on all these worries, I remember the story of the old man who said on his deathbed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which had never happened.  
-Winston Churchill_

* * *

With the appearance of Fred, dragging Percy's uncoordinated body behind him, all hell broke loose in Draco's town home. Smith and Hooper realized they were brilliant at the same time. Unfortunately they both tried to inform George of this while he was trying to convince his twin to stay and look after the former vice minister. Fortunately for Draco, he was elsewhere at the time.

"So I can go, right? If I take Malfoy's car I'll get there quicker-."

"George! Get this lug off me, I need to get back to the shop!"

"Um, Mr. Weasley, sir, I think I just figured out how to-."

"Fred! My darling brother! How I've missed you- everyone's ignoring me, you know. But not you, I knew you'd welcome me-!"

"Oh, sod off, you big lush!" With those words, Fred did as promised and dropped Percy at George's feet.

The other man looked at his twin, panic settling in. "Fred…you're not that busy right now, are you?"

Of course, what he was really saying was, _Oh my god, please don't leave me here alone! I might kill him and I don't think Mum would appreciate losing another son…please? Pretty please?_

"With sugar on top?" he finished aloud, batting his eyelashes at his brother. Fred rolled his eyes.

"Oh, fine! But you _really _owe me now!" And then the other Weasley twin tromped off, hauling Percy behind him by the shirt collar. The older brother praised his younger siblings to the sky all the rather painful way up the stairs.

The room was silent for a moment and then Smith turned to George as Hooper cowered in the background.

"Weasley, was your brother pissed?"

"And mental, but let's not keep count, shall we? Nasty business, that," he murmured sweetly before dusting his hands off and turning to the other wizard. "Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?"

* * *

Ornella would have leapt from her seat if Viola hadn't been on her lap. Her eyes shone with tears.

"Draco! That's such wonderful news- such wonderful-!" She began to cry and Hermione rushed forward, taking Viola up in her arms so the older woman could stand and hug her son-in-law.

"Barclay's getting better, truly, Mummy?" Viola asked her mother, wrapping her small arms about Hermione's neck. She smiled at her mother and the woman nodded.

"It seems so, darling. I bet you want to be here when he wakes up, don't you?"

Viola nodded fervently and Hermione hugged her. "Alright. But until then how about you spend some time with your cousin? Now that you know Barclay's going to be alright, don't you believe me when I tell you I'm fine, too?"

The little girl's face screwed up for a moment and she chewed upon her lower lip. Draco looked over and smiled briefly at her action. It reminded him so of the girl's mother…how many times had he watched Hermione gnaw at her lips that way, until they were chapped with worry?

Ornella followed his line of sight and tried not to frown. She'd known, the minute she'd met the small woman, that Hermione Potter meant something to Draco. It was just hard to lose Pansy and then to see him casting glances that witch's way so soon after the tragedy…still, comfort, friendship and love…these things knew no boundaries, especially during times of distress and grief. She knew that well enough and she would be a fool to get in the way of her son-in-law's healing process. After all, Barclay would need a strong and healthy father to take care of him in the coming years. It was hard on children of any age to lose their parents…but to lose one in the way Barclay had lost his mother- it was so very, very difficult to know how he would recover from such shock and trauma.

"Ornella?"

She came back to herself and looked up at Draco. His tall form, though considerably lighter for this newly lifted weight, still looked tired and hunched. There were circles beneath his eyes.

"You've been up all night," she admonished. He grimaced and rubbed a hand over his hair.

"Maybe…yeah. Never mind that now. The doctor said that part of the reason he's doing so well is because of his magic. I thought you'd want to know that, too," he said quietly.

The older witch's face lit up. "No! He's got magic- oh, my grandbaby! Draco, if Pansy could hear those words-!"

He hugged his mother-in-law once more and smiled with her. "I know," he murmured, holding her close. "But I'm pretty sure she's heard them anyway. She never lost faith in him."

Ornella pulled away and smiled up at him, tears shining in her eyes. "She never lost faith in you, either," she whispered hoarsely, her voice thick with emotion. Draco stared down at her and then looked over to his son. He found himself unable to speak but managed a stiff nod, thanking her silently.

Hermione stood back and smiled softly. Viola squirmed in her arms a bit as she stared up at her mummy's face. She decided she didn't mind that fact that her mummy was looking at Barclay's father the same way she used to look at her own daddy. Mr. Malfoy was a nice man…and he made Barclay be nice to her, so that counted for quite a lot in her book. She tugged on her mother's hair a little and Hermione glanced down at her .

"Yes, love?" she murmured. Viola smiled.

"I'll go with Grandma Weasley now if you want me to. As long as she lets me come see Barclay later," she negotiated, crossing her arms. "Mr. Malfoy will make sure you're okay, right, Mummy?"

Hermione felt her face flush and Molly stepped up, looking somewhat disgruntled.

"All right, that's enough, little one." The self appointed grandmother took Viola up and held the girl close. "I'm sure your mother is more than capable of taking care of herself. Why, if you knew half the jams she'd gotten herself out of when she was only a few years older than you are now…" Viola let her attention be stolen away by the promise of daring adventure stories and, after receiving a kiss goodbye from her mum, was whisked away by Molly.

Hermione squared her eyes upon Draco, who looked back at her. "Do you need some more time, Draco?" she asked him softly, leaving the warning about time running short unspoken.

He nodded and moved around Ornella to kiss his son good-bye. "You're going to be just fine, son," he murmured against the boy's forehead before pressing his lips to the pale skin once more. Then he straightened up and turned back to Hermione.

Ornella waved them off and they backed quietly from the room, closing the door behind them. Once outside, Hermione looked up at Draco.

"So he's really going to make a full recovery, then?"

"That's right." He watched her from the corner of his eyes as they walked down the hall and towards the stairwell. How was she taking this? She's seemed happy for him earlier, but quieter than usual. Well, it was a bittersweet piece of news, he supposed. He gained his son but lost his wife…and she'd lost her husband, both gone in exchange for the life of a single child. It didn't seem fair, somehow, but he wasn't about to tempt the gods anymore than he had already.

She was quiet for another moment and he smiled a little. "He's got magic, too, you know."

"You mentioned that," she replied.

"Yes…" he glanced down at her once more as they exited onto the street and she looked up at him.

"What is it, Draco?" Oh, she was feeling anxious now. Hermione chewed her lip nervously and stopped walking, waiting for him to speak. _Can he tell? Will I be able to keep the news to myself or will everyone know? Why now? Why this, now? _She couldn't say she was entirely comfortable with the thought of being pregnant again- not at the moment, anyhow- and it was making her feel guilty. Guiltier than she ever had about being a working mother or bad at ironing and grocery shopping. Still, Christmas shopping had been fun; and baking cookies at the Weasley's; and learning to knit with Ginny to save money on tiny jumpers and booties had been very pleasant.

No, it wasn't bearing a second child that bothered her…that frightened her. It was the thought of doing it all alone that kept her from being happy just then. Never mind what Molly had said; of course she knew all her friends and family would pitch in and help her and Vi through this difficult period, but it wouldn't be the same. Nothing could take the place of Harry. Nothing would ever be the same.

Draco, on the other hand, was thinking of something else entirely. He was wondering if it would be okay to tell Hermione about Barclay's magic…and what it meant. How Harry had saved his boy in more than one way; would it be alright to talk with her about that now? Was it too soon? He stopped as well and looked back at her.

"Well, it's…" he watched her face, saw her eyes darting anxiously to the side, unwilling to look at him. He turned forward once more and looked up at the sun, squinting his eyes against it. A cloud drew across and cast them into shade for a moment. He smiled slightly. Perhaps it wasn't the right time for this conversation after all. Besides, he would have time with her in spades in the coming months; time that was all their own in this renewed friendship. Uncomfortable topics could wait.

"Nothing. Just that Barclay's not a squib, after all. I can't tell Pansy, but I wanted to feel like I was, I guess." He turned around again. "I'm sorry. I just…wanted you to know," he finished softly. He walked over to the car and opened the door for her. "Suppose we ought to get back," he murmured.

Hermione eyed Draco a moment before stepping forward and taking the proffered seat. "Suppose so," she echoed and watched as he crossed the front of the vehicle and got into the driver's side.

* * *

Tall and lean, and his shoulders bent with a maturity he had not possessed when they were younger, she wasn't sure she recognized him. Had Pansy's death done that to him? Had he aged eleven years in two days? She wasn't sure. It was impossible to tell. All she'd known of him for the last decade was a shadow of his former self- the sharp business man who knew how to work the system, no matter how disgruntled he was. The man who kept to himself except when he was calling her names and getting under her skin. What did she really know of Draco Malfoy anymore?

He maneuvered the car away from the curb carefully and they slowly picked up speed as they merged with the other traffic: people on their way to jobs and schools; some on their way back home to their beds. Hermione wished she were one of those people lucky enough to be returning home…a bed and bath waiting for her, a warm meal, a couple of aspirin…

Draco glanced over as he drove them back to his townhouse. Hermione's head was resting back against the seat and her eyes had drifted shut. He frowned lightly and looked ahead again. Was she alright? Would she survive this ordeal? He didn't see why not; there wasn't an ordeal she hadn't been through and not survived. From outsmarting professors to outrunning werewolves to fighting death eaters, she had come through every challenge miles ahead. She had even survived losing one of her first loves and best friends.

Still, those fainting spells earlier worried him. What if there was something seriously wrong? What if going into the ministry when she had did some sort of permanent damage? What if his decision to apparate had caused the problem? He shook his head slightly and stuck to the road. No, there was no point in continuing that line of thought. What was done was done and he couldn't help it any longer. _It's more likely she picked up some kind of influenza…we're all running at full steam ahead right now with no sign of stopping. She was complaining of back cramps, wasn't she? Muscle aches are common to the start of a cold, I think…and she's been fatigued as well, moody…_oh.

His head snapped around and he almost slammed the breaks on. No…no, that couldn't be it, could it? She was breathing quietly, her head still tilted back, a small curve upon her lips, eyes closed while she caught a few moments' sleep. No, all was well…for now. She was just sleeping. And those symptoms were from a virus.

He turned his eyes back to the road and kept his hands firmly on the wheel. She would talk later, when she was ready. Then, if it wasn't the flu, they would deal with it. _They _would deal with it. He let out the breath he'd been holding and kept his foot on the gas. What they needed to do now was get this case closed; that was their priority. Then, maybe…if she felt like it…they would have a long talk about _everything_. Barclay, Potter, Dumbledore, house elves, Voldemort, and even Pansy, if she wanted to hear it.

They would have the talk they should've had years ago.

He wasn't sure if he was looking forward to it or not, but he was looking for it at all and he knew that counted for something. He knew it would count for something with _her _and that was all that mattered just then. It _had _to matter.

* * *

They arrived back at the townhouse to find everyone in a tizzy. A hung-over and distinctly green about the gills Percy was sitting in the dining room helping Hooper translate Runes. Hooper was ruling over the work with a surprisingly iron fist. He was actually leaning over and cuffing the other man about the ears every now and then if he started to get ill over the papers. Smith was arguing with George about something and Fred was lounging in a chair, feet on the table, discussing capitalist business policies and wizarding economy with a rather confused looking Shackleton.

Hermione looked around a moment, shrugged, and wandered back over to the papers she had left before her last fainting spell. Not even Percy's presence really bothered her…but maybe she was just too numb to care at the moment. Yes, perhaps that was it. Once they'd solved the case, then she'd rip his throat out. Possibly feed it to her owl. Hmm. Seemed like a good plan. She turned her attention back to the papers and frowned. She had to move Fred's feet to get at them, but he obliged once he realized why she was tugging at them.

"Oh, sorry, is that work you need? I couldn't tell you were doing any with all the drunk idiots in the room," he muttered with a glare across the table at Percy. Fortunately, his brother was still too drunk to notice much aside from Hooper's fists at his head.

Hermione snatched the papers from beneath and let his feet drop back to the floor with a thud. Fred looked up at her with a pained expression. "Sorry," she smiled smugly, "which are the drunk idiots, again?"

"Touché!"

She sat down and began to reorganize her work while George dismissed Smith with an angry wave and called Draco over; the other man was dangerously close to finishing Percy off before Hermione could get to him.

The other wizard tore himself away from breathing down Percy's neck and George placed an arm about his shoulders. "And is everything alright with Hermione?" he asked.

"Er," Draco mumbled.

"Well, that's fine," George bulldozed over the answer and jumped into Smith's proposition. "So, since he needs to make a trip now and obviously Hermione was right about your name being worth something, I thought you could go with. It's a brilliant idea, really- Professor Binns…who would have thought, honestly?"

Draco glared at George. "_Why_ do I have to go with him?"

"He's _your_ assistant; and I won't authorize sending someone to Hogwarts on business without a partner."

Hermione restrained a nervous giggle. The buddy system, while more than useful in their youth and school days, was almost inappropriate at this point in time. Well, actually…if he was going to Hogwarts then perhaps it wasn't so out of place. Still, she could well understand Draco's frustration. Or at least, she thought she understood it.

While she was busy thinking he didn't want to leave London just when things were falling into place with the case, he was in fact reluctant to leave for quite another serendipitous reason. He had just made friends with the girl of his dreams again not two days after both their spouses had passed away and damn it all, he didn't care how mercenary he sounded thinking such things. He wasn't about to leave her in her vulnerable state if he didn't have to.

Especially when he was fully aware of the traitorous and encouraging looks Molly Weasley was sending her son. The last thing he needed or wanted was to leave Hermione alone with one of the twins for the next twelve hours. If he'd been managing to think clearly- instead of like the hormonal, witless twelve year old he felt like at that moment- he would've realized how idiotic he sounded; however, he was emotionally distraught in addition to being a Malfoy so…being reasonable wasn't _really_ on his agenda.

As it was, he decided he couldn't trust the man as far as the study and took the liberty of telling him so in quiet tones over by the fireplace; while Hermione leant over her papers a good several feet away.

George looked only mildly uncomfortable and not the least bit ashamed. If anything, he appeared to be…amused? Draco glared at him and George had the indecency to laugh.

"Hermione, Draco? You think- oh, Merlin, it's my mum, isn't it? Look, I can't help it if she's got some notion that Hermione has to either be a part of our family or remain a widow the rest of her life, but I can assure you _I _have no intentions towards her. Other than the friendly and supportive kind, of course. Besides, do you honestly think it's seemly to be considering this sort of stuff just yet?"

It was Draco's turn to look uncomfortable after that.

"Well, alright then," he mumbled and shifted his weight. There was an awkward moment of silence between the two men until Draco spoke again. "But I still don't see why I have to go!"

"Go where?"

Both men turned about at her voice and Hermione stood staring at them strangely, a smile on her face.

"Is this about Hogwarts again? Smith told me about it- I can go if you need-."

"I don't think so," Draco growled at the same time George laughed.

Hermione frowned. "But I just-."

"No!" George and Draco yelled at her simultaneously and she backed away, her hands flying to her hips.

"Fine, I won't go! All you had to do was say so, geez." She stalked back to her chair, muttering under her breath- mostly derisive remarks directed towards men and _particularly _wizards.

Draco stared after her and George watched his friend closely. "Let it go for now, eh? Come on, we need to send Smith to Hogwarts soon. Would you rather I sent Hermione?"

"You wouldn't!"

George grinned. "No, you're right. I wouldn't. But if I get desperate enough…"

The other man sighed and shrugged, turning back to George. "Alright, you win. I'll go. But we apparate to Hogsmeade. I don't care if you have to make up a special license for us or not, I am _not _driving six hours anywhere with Smith. Besides, time is of the essence, right?"

George glared at his friend. "Are you insane?" he asked. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that will be?"

Draco shrugged again. "I did it yesterday in a far more dangerous situation. Come on, George, we'll take brooms back if we have to, but if you insist we take this trip, I insist we get there as quickly as possible. That car can only make it in four hours at best! We need a miracle, right?"

The red-haired man renewed his glare, but couldn't help agreeing. He didn't like the idea, but he knew it made sense. He was pretty sure that a little extra time spent on paperwork for potentially risky travel was better than watching Draco self-destruct in a vehicle with Smith. Not that Draco had any major problems with the other man, but he had swung at him earlier…George finally nodded and headed out the door. He would need the minister's signature for the license.

"I'll get right on it," he assented. "In the meantime, do what you have to. We'll file the paperwork after the fact."

* * *

**Author's Note: Many, many apologies. I was swamped the last several weeks of school in preparations for finals. I am going to try to finish this story in the next two weeks, so be prepared for heaps of updates. The reason is that I'm traveling this summer and won't have internet access or time to write, so I want to finish the sequel before I leave. However, in case I don't, never fear if you don't see updates for a couple of months. I will finish this story this summer, if not in the next week or so. Thank you for your patience.**


	26. Emotional Husbandry

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance._

_-Oscar Wilde_

* * *

Draco was waiting by the front door with Smith, shrugging on his overcoat when Hermione found him. She stood glaring at him, hands on her hips and he looked around nervously to see if there was a cause for her anger before smiling at her uncertainly.

"Erm, hello," he began.

"Don't you _hello_ me, Draco Malfoy," she glowered. "That was really rude of you back there, you know. If you and George want to pretend that I'm too delicate to go to Hogwarts you can just rot, for all I care! I'm in this mess with you, too, you ungrateful man!"

He took a step forward, shaking his head. "That's not it, I swear. It's just that it's Smith going and, well, you two have never really gotten along. Besides, you're the one who said my name could help."

Her face softened as she recalled their last trip and she bit her lip. "I know that." She paused and then shrugged. "I guess I'll just have to let you go, then. Drive safely, please. Although I wouldn't mind if you scared the stuffing out of Smith every now and then with that car of yours."

Draco grinned and nodded. While it would be fin to torture his assistant that way, there was no need to tell her they were apparating instead of driving. It would only worry her more and the last thing he wanted to do was make her angry with him again.

Smith rounded out of a doorway just then and looked from Hermione to Draco. He smiled. "Didn't Malfoy tell you? We're apparating there."

Draco listened to him and felt the smile slip from his face. His eyes darted to Hermione and he watched her face grow pale, then pink as she tried to suppress her anger. She turned back to him, hands balled into fists at her sides, mouth pressed into a tight line.

"You're _what_?"

He stepped back from her and cast a glare at Smith, who was already slipping out the door.

"It's the fastest way, Hermione. Any other form of transportation would just take far too long-."

"Are you completely mental? You have a son in the hospital who needs you! What if something goes wrong? You could be killed!"

"I could be killed by taking the car there, just as easily," he replied, drawing a small muffler about his neck. He tried to stay calm in the face of her anger.

"But _Draco_! What are you thinking? You saw what happened yesterday- you were there! I can't believe you're going through with this!" She threw her hands in the air and turned her back on him. Her face had grown increasingly pink and splotchy and she was trying desperately not to cry.

He looked up from slipping on a pair of good outdoor boots and paused before shoving his feet in the rest of the way. Merlin, what did she want from him? This was his job- if she had been in the same position he knew she would do the same thing…wouldn't she? Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he did know. She had changed since she'd become a mother. She tried not to stay as late at work anymore, although it happened frequently despite her best efforts. She was more careful of going to the experimental magic departments and she only met with criminals from behind safety glass anymore. She had grown generally more cautious, in fact and he knew it wasn't just because she'd grown older. Even after they'd graduated and after the war, she'd been a risk taker within her department. It was only once she'd become pregnant that she'd toned it down.

Oh, she was just as bright as she'd ever been- she would always be the smartest witch of her age- but her temper was now directed more at office workers and incompetent managers than at criminals and other villains. Working seemed to suit her, period, whether it was behind the scenes or at the forefront, so he didn't think her change in perspective mattered much to her career. Still, it was easy to see why she'd done it and he didn't think it was simply because she was a mother. Potter had been an auror- a dangerous job, at best. It made sense that once they had a child she would start taking better care of herself. He knew Potter had tried to play it safe as well, but they both must've always been thinking about it: Harry could die from his job at any moment and someone needed to be alive to take care of their child. What a burden to live with…and to have one's worst fears realized…

He stepped forward again and touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I know it's dangerous, but we need to get this disaster solved as soon as possible. It's the fastest way to getting us there. Please don't be upset…I'll be back before you know, I promise."

She jerked away from him and shook her head before walking back to the dining room. He watched her go and felt the weight about his heart increase. What choice did he have? Didn't she understand that? And why did she care so much what he did with himself? _Stop that_, he told himself. _She's only worried for Barclay's sake. Ornella would be yelling at you too, if she knew. _

With a sigh he turned and opened the front door, stepping out into the morning sunshine once more. There was nothing he could do now and the day was moving on quickly. Smith looked up at him from the sidewalk as he descended the steps.

"Malfoy-," he began, but didn't get any farther. Draco glared at him and grabbed his arm.

"Never mind and just hold on tight."

Smith barely had time to breath before Draco exhaled, closing his eyes to concentrate, and they turned on the spot.

* * *

Hermione looked up as George reentered the room. He glanced at her before walking over to Hooper and peering over his shoulder. Hermione rolled her eyes and looked back at the parchment before her. Fine. If George didn't want to talk to her just because she'd yelled at Draco for being an idiot five minutes earlier, he could just be that way. Let him think what he wanted- she hadn't done anything wrong. Draco deserved to be yelled at after making a decision like that.

What was he thinking? Did he have a death wish? That wouldn't be completely farfetched; they were under a great deal of stress- he'd given up the life he'd known for years to save Pansy only to have lost her now…she ran a hand through her messy hair and shook her head. No, not Draco. He may not handle stress well; he might be as devastated as she felt, but he would never give up on life. Not the Draco she'd known, at least. He had been full of life and ambition and unwilling to give those things up for anything. No, she didn't need to worry about him that way. After all, he'd just gotten good news on Barclay's prognosis. He would have a son to come home to, if not a wife…she flushed lightly and squirmed in her seat some. What was wrong with her? Honestly!

_You are not interested in anything of the sort, Hermione Potter! _she told herself. _Hormones…it must be hormones…oh, why did this have to happen now? _She'd only just agreed to be friends with the man again; the last thing she needed was to start imagining she had feelings for him. _Don't let your grief over Harry and stress over Viola and this new little one convince you that you need a man by your side to help you through it. You're already attached to the fate of his son…stop mothering a man you have no intention of loving ever again! _

She felt her face grow pale and dropped her head into her hands, moaning. That was all this was- mothering in over drive, thanks to her condition. Unfortunately, she knew if she wasn't careful her brain would convince her heart that it was what she wanted. _Isn't it? _a voice in her mind spoke up. Hermione moaned again. She knew that voice well, although she hadn't heard it in a long time. _No, it isn't, _she replied. _What I want is peace so that I can go home to my flat with my daughter and pack up every last thing that will remind me of my dead husband. Now leave me alone!_ The voice went silent and she let out a long sigh.

George looked up from Hooper's latest translation and watched Hermione worriedly. He wasn't really mad at her; he thought Draco's decision was just as stupid as she did, although he did understand his reasons. No, she just had a look about her- sure, she was tired out, but he'd never seen her in such a dark mood before. There was always something to brighten her day or put a smile on her face, even in the face of tragedy. She really did try to think the best of people, even if she didn't like them very much. Turning his gaze to his twin, he nodded his head. Fred rolled his eyes and stood up, vacating his space at the table to make way for his brother.

"I'll go refill the coffee pot," he offered and sauntered from the room. George moved around to where he'd been sitting and took his place. He nudged Hermione and was received a grunt in response.

"Come on, love. What's the matter?"

She turned her head and looked at him, shoulders hunched with doubt. "Everything, George." Then she returned her face to her hands and let a small shudder ripple through her.

"You're awfully pale. What did the doctors say?"

"This isn't about that!" came the muffled and somewhat indignant reply.

Oh. Well, in that case George felt he was fairly well out of his league. Of course he'd had his fair share of love affairs and the subsequent bad break-ups, but he wasn't sure what to do about the new widow's confused feelings. He'd watched his two friends dance about each other for years, never expecting anything to come of it. Hermione had been so devoted to Harry that even if she had been aware of the attraction between herself and Draco, he was certain she would never have acted on it. And now she was being forced to examine those feelings with a rude and cruel awakening. Yes, this subject was definitely out of his league. Still, if it was Draco she was worried about, he could ease her worries on that count.

"He'll be fine, Hermione. They got off safely, at least. No limbs left behind or anything like that."

She snorted. "Did you check for brains?"

He glanced at her, startled. "Pardon me?"

"Never mind," she sighed. "I'm fine, George." She looked up from her hands and gave him a small smile. "Thanks anyway."

He nodded and gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder before standing up. He paused, thoughtful.

"On second thought, they were short on brains to begin with, weren't they?" Then he grinned and ruffled her curls.

She glared at him and watched as he walked away, chuckling. Still, she knew he meant well. Besides which, he was right to tell her not to worry. Worrying wouldn't help get the case solved. She turned back to the box of reports and continued reading. There was nothing more to be done now but wait.

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry, this is a short one, I know. More to come today and tomorrow, however. Thanks!**


	27. No Other Course

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been.'  
-John Greenleaf Whittier_

* * *

Draco and Smith arrived at the castle safely. Their apparation to the village had been a smooth one and from there they'd taken a quick broom-ride up the road to the school. McGonagall had met them at the gates and ushered them inside quickly, ensuring that they made their way to Professor Binns's office and nowhere else.

"Please, many of our students are not yet aware of the grave danger their families and friends are in yet and I'd like to keep it that way. We know you'll deal with the issue at hand swiftly and don't wish to raise the alarm amongst them if it's not necessary." She paused and peered at them through her spectacles, as thought sizing the two of them up.

"I know what you're thinking, Mr. Smith, and it's simply not true. We are not in league with the ministry or anything of the sort. It's just that if the students did know about the danger to their loved ones, many would desire to be sent home at once; and although it's always been true, it is perhaps more vital now than ever: Hogwarts is the safest place for them at the moment."

Draco elbowed Smith and nodded at Minerva. "Of course, we understand. I have no desire to usurp your authority on that position. We're just here to try and get some answers, alright?"

The witch looked them over again before nodding. "Alright. Well, here we are." With that, she knocked quietly on the wooden door before them and then pushed it open.

"Professor?" she called. "There are some wizards from the ministry here to ask you some questions." She turned and smiled at them. "Good luck to you both," she murmured, then patted Draco on the shoulder and swept away down the hall.

Draco entered the room first, Smith trailing behind him. The specter of a very old man sat at a desk before them. He smiled stiffly as he gazed up at them with rather blank eyes.

"Er, Professor Binns?" the much younger wizard inquired. The ghost continued to smile.

"Oh, my…visitors? From the ministry? How strange," he remarked, as if speaking to himself. "Haven't had visitors from the ministry since the inquiry into the goblin rebellion of 1692...now that was an interesting case…twenty goblins broke into the ministry and left behind a device to subvert safety charms left in place…" his voice droned on, intent on describing the incident and ensuing battle in great detail.

Draco could fall asleep just hearing that raspy, echoing voice again. He shook his head and pushed his partner forward.

"Say something!" he hissed. Smith stared ahead of him at his former professor with wide eyes, unsure of himself.

"Like what?' he whispered. Draco shrugged and shoved him forward. Smith looked at the ghost uncertainly and finally cleared his throat. "Uh, Professor?"

Binns continued to drone on and Smith raised his voice a little. "Professor Binns, I need to ask you some questions." Still nothing. He could feel his boss's frustration growing and couldn't help but mirror it. Normally, he was a very stoic man; he rarely got upset anymore unless it involved his personal safety. That was a subject he would always take seriously, much to the lament of his family's honor. He moved closer and tried one last time. "Shut it, will you? I'm trying to ask you some questions, you insubstantial antique!"

When the man continued blathering on and Draco elbowed his kidneys, he finally realized he hadn't actually said any of that out loud. Smith rolled his eyes and finally knocked on the dead professor's desk. It caught his attention.

"Oh, my," he remarked. "I have visitors?"

Smith's mouth dropped open and he turned about to glare in consternation at Malfoy, who shrugged, smiled and slipped out the door, leaving him alone with the garrulous ghost.

"Malfoy!" he exclaimed before heaving a sigh and turning back to his mark. "And they say I'm the coward," he grumbled under his breath.

"What was that, dear sir? You want to know about Croc the Coward? Urg the Emulous? Hmm?"

Smith put his hands out and quickly shook his head. "No, no, not at all! Er, Professor Binns, I need to ask you some questions about a few different things…"

"Well, then, start at the beginning, my boy. Why, I could start at the very beginning- wizarding history has a long and glorious-."

"That won't be necessary, Professor," Smith interjected. "What I'm really interested in is more recent decades- and one rather touchy subject."

The ghost of his former professor seemed to perk up at that and actually began to listen to him- if ghosts technically _could_ listen. "Do go on," came the raspy whisper. The specter seemed to lean forward conspiratorially.

Smith let himself grin half-heartedly. Perhaps they had come to the right source after all.

"I need a little background on the Smith family…and all the information you know about the wards protecting wizarding London."

* * *

Back at the townhouse, Hermione was running her fingers through her hair in frustration and checking the time every two minutes. She was almost finished going through the employee reports and was, for the first time in her life, finding paper work confusing. She knew she was just tired and worn out; it wasn't because she didn't understand the terminology, certainly. She was a muggle born witch- she had a pretty decent grasp on all things magical _and _non-magical, so of course there was nothing about spatiotemporal theory that was confusing. It was just that she was so _distracted_ at the moment…and the words kept blurring on the page. At this point, she would have to reread every page. All sixty-five reports. She groaned and checked the time again. When had Draco left?

Fred had returned to the room and was unofficially helping by making paper airplanes out of scrap paper. He was grinning like a five year old.

"Brilliant," he kept muttering. "Muggles…so resourceful! Airplanes made of paper…that fly without magic- just brilliant!"

"Fred, it's simple physics," Hermione had tried to explain earlier. He had only looked at her blankly and she had to remind herself that although they were abnormally brilliant at potions, neither twin had finished at Hogwarts. And that during their time there, they hadn't even done particularly well.

Another plane flew into her hair and she tiredly pulled it out, making a note to find out who had taught him how to make the dratted things so she could personally skewer the guilty party later.

"Fred," she murmured as she retrieved the plane, "have I mentioned how annoying these things are? Muggle parents often punish their children for making them."

"Really?" the red-head raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you going to punish me, Hermione, darling?"

"Ugh!" she groaned again and propped her head up on one hand, tossing the crumpled plane on the table in front of her. It lay before her in a small heap of yellowed tinder and faded ink..._mocking_ her. _What's the matter, genius? _it seemed to say. _Having trouble with a few employee reports and exit interviews? My, you aren't getting on at all, are you? _She lifted a hand and poked at it savagely, inadvertently dislodging one of the flaps. It slipped open, revealing a corner of some sort of printed form.

Hermione looked at it oddly for a moment, chin still propped in one hand, and then slowly began smoothing out the rest of the paper. A form…she recognized that print. She'd been looking at it for the last hour, at least. Sitting up quickly, eyes suddenly alert, she opened it the rest of the way and looked at it intently. Her eyes scanned the dates and she looked up, confused. How had she missed one?

"Fred," she asked, "where did you get this piece of paper?"

He turned about, startled. "Er…just on the table, love."

"No, I mean, exactly where?"

"Well…it was near those files." He pointed at the stack of folders on her left side and she frowned.

"Fred, these are the _employee_ _records_ from the Department of Mysteries. They're _very_ important to our case- now I have to put this one back in order with the others and go through them all over again-!"

He raised his hands defensively and smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't know, honest. But really, why do you have to go through them all over again? Can't you just read them- out of order?"

Hermione stared at Fred for a moment, looked back at the paper in her hands, and then smiled broadly.

"Of course, you're perfectly right, Fred. I've been going about this all the wrong way. Thanks!" With that, she settled down in her- _still_- uncomfortably wooden seat to read over this missed piece of evidence. Already, looking at the name across the top, it promised to be a vital clue to their search for the truth.

It was dated May of 1947 and read _Department of Mysteries, employee record no. 87623, Mr. Hezekiah Smith, wizard._

* * *

When Smith finally exited Binns's office, he found Draco leaning against the wall outside, waiting for him. His boss had a rather mournful- introspective, even- look upon his face.

"Malfoy?" he asked.

Draco looked up then and blinked several times, as if coming out of a daze. "Sorry," he replied. "Just…lost in my thoughts, I suppose. All set? What did you find out?"

Smith eyed him a moment more before nodding. "Enough. Everything we need to confirm we're on the right track, at least." He looked to Malfoy again and pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. "Ah, he gave me a list of names and books we might find useful as well. I suspect you and Potter cleared out the library pretty well the last time you were here, though."

Draco nodded, silent, and began walking down the hall. Smith stared after him and followed.

"He did give plenty of other information as well, of course- things we didn't know before. I didn't mean to imply it was a bust." He watched Malfoy continue to walk along the corridor, head up but eyes downcast. He couldn't help but speak again. While he was used to Malfoy being quiet- stoic, like himself- he wasn't used to the bloke being so _depressed_. It was highly unusual, never minding that his wife had just died. So unusual, in fact, that he felt compelled to raise the other man's spirits.

Smith never felt compelled to raise _anyone's _spirits. The whole ordeal was rather surprising. Then again, what wasn't surprising about the entire situation?

He picked up his pace in order to follow Malfoy more closely. The other wizard was walking faster than before and they were exiting the castle before he knew it. He caught his boss's arm just outside in the courtyard.

"Look, Malfoy, this trip was really a big help. You wouldn't believe what old Binns knows. He was able to not only give me an oral history of the wards, but also details as to the process and key locations. He couldn't explain why they were going all wonky now, but he did shed some light on some family history of mine that might help in that area." Malfoy nodded absentmindedly and stared off into the horizon. Smith let go of his arm and tried again. "Did you know that Binns has taught every class of Hogwarts graduates eight generations back, at least?"

There was a moment of silence and Draco finally turned about and looked at his companion. His face was thoughtful.

"Do you ever miss it, Smith?"

"Er," Smith replied, "miss what?"

"School." Draco smiled and ran a hand over his hair. "Sorry, I must seem completely barmy to you. It's just that I was thinking of it all, up there." He tilted his head in the direction they'd come from. "I've got a lot of regrets, Smith."

His partner eyed him warily for a moment, trying to figure out if the other man was putting him on or not. He decided the sincerity on his face was the same he'd seen every other day they'd been on the job together.

"Well," he responded, "I suppose we all have some regrets."

"Not you," Draco murmured. "You're not the regretting type. You're glad you got away with your life that day on the battlefield and you're not sorry other people died instead. Because you know that someone would have died anyway." He faced Smith and smiled. "I can think that way for the sake of my son, but not for myself. I'm not glad I got away with my life. I wish I'd made different choices."

Smith hesitated before placing his hand on Draco's arm once more. "Malfoy…if you had, made different choices, I mean, you wouldn't _have_ a son to think that way for."

Draco nodded once and looked away again. "I know," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "But that doesn't make it any easier to live with."

There was silence between the two men and then Draco finally lifted and arm and gestured towards the gates.

"Enough of that. We'd best get back. Where are the broomsticks?"

"Just over there," Smith replied, smiling awkwardly. He'd never shared such an intimate moment with his boss before and he wasn't sure he wanted them to continue. Still, they'd be able to put this business behind them soon enough and get back to the usual routine.

They each summoned the brooms and were up and away towards Hogsmeade in one smooth motion, the wind at their backs. Smith hoped Malfoy's emotions wouldn't get in the way of his apparating. The last thing any of them needed now was a good, old fashioned splinching.

* * *


	28. Fault Lies

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_What is deservedly suffered must be borne with calmness, but when the pain is unmerited, the grief is resistless.  
-Ovid_

* * *

Draco and Smith apparated back onto the alley between the townhouses with a loud pop. With a quick motion, Draco gestured and headed around the fence in back, opening the gate with a small wave of his hand and climbing the back steps. Smith didn't follow immediately; he was busy checking for splinching. He didn't trust Draco's aim entirely, as the man had been blubbering about regrets just a few minutes before. He wasn't sure which part of his time in school the other wizard had been referring to: was it his family background, the endless bullying and torment of other students, the death of the headmaster, or was it his loss of Hermione's good word? He shook his head and looked up to find the other man already on his way back inside the house.

Finally satisfied that he wasn't missing any vital parts of his body, Smith followed him up the steps. No matter what Malfoy regretted, none of it really mattered now. They had all paid for their mistakes and what was important now was their determination to make up for the past. He wasn't going to let it bother him, at any rate. Malfoy was right when he'd said that Smith wasn't the regretting sort. He wasn't the much of anything sort, to be fair. What he wanted most out of life was to make a comfortable living in peace. And after this crisis was over, he would. That was enough for him.

Draco pushed open the back door easily with Smith a few feet behind him. "You know what to do," he said over his shoulder. The other man nodded and brushed past him to head into the dining room and get to work with Hooper. A female voice exclaimed at his entrance. Draco hesitated outside the door before turning and walking into the kitchen instead. He found Shackleton busy making tea.

"Tea?" He raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you make something stronger?"

"This is herbal tea for Madame Potter, Sir," his elf replied. He looked up from his ministrations and smiled. "I have a freshly brewed pot of coffee in the dining room. Which is where you should be." He screwed up his face, puzzled. "Is something the matter, Sir?"

Draco sighed and slid onto a stool, propping his elbows on the bar. "I've just been…thinking, Shackleton."

The elf nodded wisely. "Ah, I see. Well, better be careful, Master Draco. Thinking too much can cause trouble. There will plenty of time to think later on, after all this is over." He paused on his way out the door, tray in hand. "It's good you're back safely, Sir," he added before disappearing around the corner. Draco's eyes followed him out the door. A female voice sounded outside in the hallway and he heard it conversing with his elf in quiet tones.

Draco turned back around and dropped his head into his hands. He just wanted to take a break…just a little one, to think about his son; and make plans for the funeral; and maybe if he could talk to someone about how he felt, that would be nice as well. But not just any someone; someone who cared about him and whom he cared for in return; someone who would know exactly how he was feeling, who could help through every step because she was going through the exact same thing…

"Draco?" came the woman's voice. "Are you alright?"

"Hermione," he murmured. "I thought you were in the dining room."

She walked around the little bar he was seated at and placed her cup of tea on the counter before struggling up onto a stool herself. "I was," she replied, "but Smith came in and I got worried when you didn't follow him…" She paused, as if embarrassed at her own emotion. "I'm worried about all of us, not just you, but-."

"It's alright, Hermione," he replied, a half-hearted smirk gracing his lips. "You don't have to make excuses on my behalf." He unexpectedly reached across the counter and clasped her hands in his. "I'm glad you're worried for me. It makes me ridiculously happy, you know."

She flushed and freed one hand in order to lift the cup to her lips. He noticed she didn't bother to remove her other hand, however. It made him smile and they sat in an awkward, but peaceful, silence for a moment.

"Hermione, have you thought at all about what you're going to do- after all this?" Draco looked up from her hand, which he'd been rubbing gently.

She stared into her cup, cheeks still a bright pink. "I don't know. Go home, I suppose. Try to get up every morning. Take Viola to school. Ask for half days at work." She paused, eyes glistening brightly. "My parents haven't seen her in a while. I thought I might take a small vacation and stay with them for a few weeks after- after the funeral…"

He nodded, still rubbing her hand. It was so small within his two- just the way it was all those years ago, at school. He'd felt a need to protect her even then, although it had come through in a perverted version.

She lifted her eyes to his face. It looked drawn and tired. "What about you?"

"Hmm? Oh, funeral arrangements. Barclay's never spent much time with his paternal grandparents and my father's gone now, but he does like Ornella. She's always been good to us. But it would break Shackleton's heart to be away from here for very long. He's grown quite attached to this place." He paused and looked about the kitchen, memories of Pansy and birthday parties and failed cooking experiments flooding his mind. "I think it would break mine, too."

"I thought maybe I could just avoid going back…I hadn't really thought of moving," Hermione replied, putting her teacup down and suddenly drawing her other hand away to wrap her arms about herself. "Things won't be the same without Harry, but Viola…well." She stopped short and suddenly stood, wiping one hand beneath her eyes and taking a deep breath.

"This is no good. Come on. They're waiting for us in the other room and while you two were gone we weren't completely unproductive." She looked at Draco, waiting for him to stand as well. When he didn't, she bit her lip unhappily. "Please, Draco. Don't be this way. Not yet."

"What way is that?" he murmured, raising an eyebrow.

"Just…gloomy. I'm not a very good friend right now, myself. You won't find me very pleasant company if what you need is someone to listen and tell you it's all going to be okay. I never was much good at that. Harry was the listener."

He turned on his seat and stared at her, surprised. "He was, wasn't he?' he mused. She nodded uncomfortably and gestured to the doorway.

"I'm leaving now. Come join us, please? Let's just get this taken care of and then we can both cry over our tea all we like. _That_ I can help you with, I promise. I've always been rather good at feeling sorry for myself. Quietly, mind you. None of those hysterics, now."

"Not like Potter, eh?" he smirked again, surprised at the change in tone of their conversation. If this was dark humor, he was okay with it.

She glared at him and then her face relaxed into a self-conscious smile. "Harry was always rather good at the dramatics, wasn't he?"

Draco laughed out right- a bark of humor and she smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Come _on_, Draco. We've only a little further to go before it's over. I'm right here."

He looked down at her thoughtfully as they exited the kitchen together. "You are, aren't you? This isn't some dream."

Her face fell and she shook her head. "No, Merlin help us, it's no dream." _Even though we wish it were._

Words lay between them, unspoken, as they always had. Hermione hoped vehemently that someday they would banish them and be able to start living again.

* * *

George clapped Hooper and Smith on the back at the same time, then slung his arms about either man's shoulders.

"Well done, you two!" he exclaimed. "The runes are all translated and that means we can compare the information you gathered from old Dustbins and authenticate it. This is wonderful news! The first real break we've had, in fact. Promotions all around!"

Hooper turned a healthy shade of pink and eyed the arm about his shoulders warily while Smith rolled his eyes. "You'd better run that promotion by Malfoy first," he snirked and Hooper let a little giggle escape his lips.

When both Smith and George turned to stare at him, he coughed and gently removed himself from the happy clump. "Er, just going to start the comparisons; I'll be over there if you need me- cheerio!" Then he dashed off to the other end of the dining room and slid into a chair, gripping its arms firmly.

George laughed and then caught Smith by both arms. "And you'd better talk to Hermione about your family. She found a report you might find insightful. There now, off you go and coffee for everyone- we may have this solved by the end of the day, people; which is our deadline as well, so hustle!"

Hermione _ulped _and turned to face Draco just inside the door of the dining room. "We have less than a day to finish this?" she asked, eyes bordering on panicked. Draco shook his head and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. You heard George. We're really close and then we can send the warders the information. They'll be able to set everything aright before the clock strikes midnight. Just like Cinderblock."

A smile crept across her face and she patted his hand kindly. "You mean Cinderella, Draco."

He scowled. "Whatever. I think George wants to talk to me- you can set me straight on muggle fairy epics later."

"Tales!" she called after him, thoroughly amused. Pansy must have been trying to educate little Barclay like a muggle in case he turned out to be a squib. Draco obviously hadn't paid very close attention. As she sat down next to Smith with her papers in hand, she wondered absentmindedly if Draco would continue to educate his son in the ways of muggles now that he was clearly a budding wizard. The thought distracted her several moments more until Smith finally cleared his throat. She turned to face him, apologetic.

"Never mind," he replied. "Let's just get to it. Now what is it you found?"

"Fred was kind enough to point something out to me- a report I missed earlier. I believe it's some relation of yours. A Hezekiah Smith?"

"That's right- he was some sort of great uncle. I know he worked in Mysteries, but according to my family tree he's been missing for ages. I think he was presumed dead a few decades ago. Lost in some kind of department panic related to safety charms that went haywire in 1972, courtesy of old goblin magic left over from the rebellion of 1692, I believe it was." Smith rolled his eyes at the astonishment on Hermione's face. "Oh, please. I was _not _paying attention in History of Magic all those years ago; this is information I got from Binns just today, so stop making cow eyes at me."

Hermione harrumphed and pulled the employee record out. "Well, that would all fit with what I have on him here. This record was first dated in 1947 and then _updated _in 1973 to show that he was no longer working there as a result of the disaster. Apparently the entire department was practically gutted and they've been finding bits and pieces of experiments, spells, paperwork and even _people_ ever since. They never did manage to clean the whole thing up."

Smith nodded. "Alright, well now you know my connection, but how is that supposed to help?"

"Because since his body was never found and you are his closest living relative- we won't bother telling them your dad is still alive- you can file for a search of the department. He was only _presumed _dead, never officially declared, right?"

"Right."

"Well, there you go. Better talk to George about getting him to file the paperwork after the fact. It seems we'll be doing a lot of that. After all, it would normally take months to get a request like this through and we don't have that kind of time."

"Obviously," he concurred, then stood. "Thanks. I'll talk to George and then Draco about making another trip- this time to Mysteries."

"Okay," she murmured, returning to her paperwork. She looked up once more. "Take me with you this time!" she called. Smith waved a hand over his shoulder and she smiled. At least one of the men on the team was willing to let her risk life and limb. _What a gentleman_, she snirked, before focusing on the records once more. Now that things were falling into place, all that remained was gathering evidence to put the bad guy away…whoever it turned out to be. Hermione wasn't sure she bought into the conspiracy theory Draco and George were growing increasingly fond of, but she knew that _someone _had to be behind it. The kind of rampant magical destruction didn't just _happen_…did it?

* * *

Across the table, Hooper was consulting the list Smith had given him with the translations. Percy was mercifully absent at this point; his hangover had been horrific- so horrific that Hooper was trying not to imagine what the stains across his half of the translations were. He'd really rather not know.

George came over and sat down next to him.

"Any luck?"

"Loads, Mr. Weasley! Look, this bit about the goblin rebellion practically confirms it all. See, it affected the department in 1972, according to Binns, which was the year the wards should have been renewed. They were first established in 1372 and were renewed in fifty year increments from that date. So the twelfth cycle should have been re-warded in 1972, the year of the disaster in the whole ministry. But it was Mysteries that was hit the hardest and in the confusion, they forgot to renew the spells."

"What do you mean, they _forgot_?"

Hooper tugged at his tie and loosened it nervously. "Er, just that, Sir. There is no indication in any of the records Ms. Potter is investigating that they remembered about that other job- essentially a very routine sort of thing, but easily missed in the confusion."

"How do you miss protecting your city from imploding?" George could feel his blood beginning to boil. They were so close- so close to solving everything, to tracking down the person who had caused this only to discover that it was a _mistake_? That no one had done this purposefully, with malicious intent, but had simply- _forgotten_? It was too cruel. All those people, all those wonderful people, _dead _because of a mistake. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Well, consider all the other distractions they'd had at the time. Voldemort was rising in power, they were gearing up for a war. Many subversive elements had taken up their time, distracting them. The Great War, World War II, and many other muggle elements also proved themselves to be distracting. When the atom bomb-."

"I'm not really interested in the A-bomb, Hooper, but thanks. I get the picture." He leaned forward intently, hands shaking with anger. "The real question is, do you have enough information to fix it?"

Hooper stared at him uncertainly a moment and finally shook his head. "No. I have many of the pieces here, but what we really need is an expert- and inside person. Someone who worked on them."

George beat his hand onto the table and swore. Smith hesitated to one side of him and everyone else stopped what they were doing.

"You need someone who worked on the wards?" Smith asked. George nodded and ran his hands through his hair, ready to pull it out. "Sir, my great uncle used to work there. For all we know, he may still be inside, trapped. According to the records, although dated in 1947, Hermione says he was hired first as an underling in 1896."

Hooper leapt up. "That means he was there for the 1922 renewing!"

Smith swallowed hard and eyed George, whose eyes had gone wide. Finally, here it was: hope. The fear of losing it was almost unbearable and he knew everyone shared that fear. He wasn't about to lose that shred of hope for anything. Looking about the room wildly, he then dashed for the door, grabbing his coat. "Well?" he called over his shoulder. "What are you all waiting for? Bring the papers and let's get back to the ministry- it's time we paid the Department of Mysteries a visit!"

There was a flurry of papers and boxes and coats, followed by a general stampede for the front door. Shackleton shrieked and threw himself into the nearest closet. A few minutes later, the noise stopped and he poked his head up from a pile of scarves and galoshes. Warily, he poked open the door and was greeted by an empty town house once more. He sighed and scratched his head before trudging out of the closet and back down the hall to the dining room. He had a feeling that when the master returned this evening, he would be alone this time. It was best to start cleaning up the mess now. Nothing worse than having a house full of friends only to return home to the mess and not the people.

Well, perhaps some things were worse, but as they had already happened, he would do his best to make Master Draco as comfortable and as happy as possible. It was all he could do for now.

* * *


	29. Finished

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling, the richest woman on earth.**

* * *

_Pain hardens, and great pain hardens greatly, whatever the comforters say, and suffering does not ennoble, though it may occasionally lend a certain rigid dignity of manner to the suffering frame._

_-Antonia S. Byatt_

* * *

Hermione finally caught up to Draco as she crawled in the back seat of his Rolls, after demanding that Hooper scoot over. Smith was seated up front and Fred had appropriated the rear passenger side seat, which left someone squished in the middle. Hermione only had to glare at Hooper and he slid over to let her sit behind the driver.

After sweeping a glance about and buckling her safety belt, she squared Fred with a rather accusing stare. "Fred," she demanded, "what on earth are you doing here?" He smiled blandly and leaned forward to ruffle Smith's hair in response. Smith snarled and jerked his head forward. Fred looked to Hermione.

"Moral support," he replied with a grin.

She eyed him a moment and looked about the car again. "No, really, what is he doing here? And, by the way, why isn't anyone riding with George? Why are we all squashed in one vehicle?"

Draco snorted while the other three men glanced at each other, ashen faced. Finally, Fred turned back to her.

"Have you _been _in a car with my brother?"

A sudden squeal of rubber on pavement sounded just ahead of them and the ministry car George was driving pulled away from the curb in cloud of smoke, then was gone down the street. Hermione sat back in her seat, her mouth a small _oh_ of surprise.

Draco watched her from the rearview mirror and allowed himself a smirk. Unfortunately, she caught his expression and returned it with a small glare. Leaning forward, she propped her chin over his shoulder. The smirk disappeared and he cast a wary glance at her as he pulled out into traffic.

"I know you were trying to leave me in the dust back there, Draco Malfoy," she hissed in his ear.

"I was doing no such thing," he frowned as he drove towards the ministry. What was wrong with this woman? He knew she was feeling strange, but honestly- was now anytime to start a fight? Still, he couldn't help his reaction. "Maybe you were just moving slower than everyone else!"

She scoffed and fell back into her seat once more. _Draco will always be a Malfoy, no matter how nice he gets_, she reminded herself. Besides, she'd only been joking about him leaving her behind, hadn't she? _Were not, _the voice spoke up. _You meant to pick a fight. _She sighed and crossed her arms. From beside her, Hooper shifted uncomfortably, wondering if he should mention that she'd just put an elbow in his side. After a friendly glare from Fred, he decided _not_.

"I thought you liked speeding, _Malfoy_," Hermione grumbled from the back seat as she watched the scenery drag by the window.

Draco narrowed his eyes and was about to retaliate when Fred gave a small cough. "Er, perhaps she's right. It wouldn't hurt to drive like George this _once, _would it, Malfoy?"

"Not when one of my passengers is pregnant, it wouldn't!" Draco finally burst out. The cab went silent and Hermione turned her head from the window to stare at him in horror. Everyone but Hooper eyed the woman, shocked, as her face grew redder. The youngest member of their company was still looking about, confused.

"What?" he asked dumbly. Fred took the opportunity to distract him.

"Malfoy was referring to himself, Hooper."

Smith snorted into his hand and then began laughing aloud. "Did you just call Draco Malfoy a woman, Weasley?" he chortled.

Fred raised an eyebrow in their driver's direction and grinned. "I believe so. Is it entirely inappropriate in these circumstances though, honestly?"

Draco was pinching his lips together hard as his companions began laughing together. All except one: Hermione's face was still red and it look as though she was desperately close to tears. _From anger or dismay?_ he wondered. He chanced a look back in the rearview mirror and she cast a glare at his reflection. _Er! _He turned his eyes back to the road ahead. _Anger. That was definitely anger. _

A moment later, the other three still distracted, Hermione leaned forward and placed one hand on his shoulder, gripping it very tightly. "You'll drive a little faster, if you know what's good for you, Draco Malfoy," she hissed, keeping a rein on her tightly wound emotions.

His foot hit the gas without hesitating this time and they sped off, intent to get there and away from one another as quickly as possible.

* * *

They reached the ministry only a few minutes after George and tumbled from the vehicle in a slight disarray. Hermione immediately stalked away from Draco to join Hooper while Smith walked around the vehicle to stand with Draco. Fred stared from one set to the other and shook his head. So the team was back to being split right down the middle- and after George had worked so hard to try and bring the two departments together. Ah, well. His twin could handle the earth falling to pieces around his ears; he could certainly handle some interdepartmental squabbles. _Relationship _squabbles, at that.

"So," he finally announced, "I'll wait here with the getaway vehicle while you storm the bank."

Draco and Hermione shot him withering looks at the same time. He would have laughed if it hadn't been so creepy. _Do they even realize how alike they are?_

"Fred," Hermione started, "this is hardly the set of Bonnie and Clyde."

Draco stared from one to the other and frowned, as if they were sharing an inside joke. Fred only shrugged. He had about as much of an idea as to what she was talking about as Draco did.

"Right," Smith finally muttered. "I'm going in. Coming?" He turned and cast one glance over his shoulder before starting for the stairs. Draco watched his assistant walk away and chanced one more look at Hermione before following him.

"Couldn't we have taken the back entrance again?" Hooper asked as he watched the other two men heading for the loo. "I hate flushing myself."

Hermione snorted and wiped her eyes. "Shut it, Hooper. Everyone hates it. That's the point of the blasted things. Why work in a happy environment when you can torture yourself daily?" she continued to grouse as she headed for the ladies' side. He watched her go and turned to Fred.

"What'd I say?"

"Nothing, mate," the older wizard calmed him. "She's just easily perturbed right now. Good luck, then. Better get going," he remarked cheerfully and swatted Hooper on the head, sending him scuttling off.

Then he settled in against the Rolls and got to the business of waiting. That is, until he realized he was leaning against a Rolls and Draco had left him the key.

A minute later, Fred decided waiting could just as easily be done by burning petrol down the highway. To any passerby it would have been obvious that he was George's twin; the vehicle disappeared from the lot with a completely unnecessary squealing of tires.

Hermione exited the fireplace and spotted Draco and Smith not too far ahead, striding towards the stairs. She narrowed her eyes and quickly overtook them. She'd be damned if she let them think that just because she was pregnant she was weak and incapable of doing her job. She'd be damned if Draco and the others felt like just because they'd managed to guess at her condition it gave them the right to go spreading it about, like she- her condition, her _child_- was gossip. Or even suitable conversation material, or appropriate grounds for excluding her from the investigation.

She wasn't a porcelain doll, damn it! She was a woman with thoughts and feelings and a _life_. A life outside her children, her husband. She would survive Harry's death, whether she liked it or not- whether it felt like it or not. She would have this child whether it seemed practical or not- whether she could stomach the thought of it growing up not knowing its father or not- she would bear it. She would bear it all.

That kind of courage- that resignation- did not warrant Draco _bloody _Malfoy blabbing whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted. He was not her protector, self styled or not! _She _was her own protector and she didn't need him! She didn't want him! The thought of his friendship just hours earlier had brought her such pleasure- she admitted it freely. The thought that she might someday have room in her heart for another man, even _him_, was comforting. But now all his presence, all his _protection_ did was to remind her that she had no one left except her children…and she had to protect them. They could not do that for her. No matter how much her friends and family and even Draco, that bastard, thought they loved and cared for her, they could not protect her from the years of healing that must come after this injustice.

No one could help her heal except herself. If she relied on anyone else it would only be hiding from the truth. Oh, she would let them cook her meals; and invite her for dinner and parties and vacations; and help her clean house and watch the kids; and there would be laughter and hugs and tears…but she had to choose for herself to live. She had to be the one who said, _I can get through this. I can survive this. I will laugh and love again and mean it, someday. I can do this. _

Men never understood that. They never understood that they could not just hug a woman or dispense advice and _fix _things. Things sometimes could _not _be fixed. And if they could, it was her who had to do it.

She brushed past Draco angrily, not caring that her eyes were still suspiciously wet. So she'd been crying, who cared? Everyone had, recently. She had every right to. He let her rush ahead of him and didn't say anything. She was glad of it- desperately glad. _Don't say anything to me again, you-_ but she couldn't even finish the thought.

Draco watched her long, powerful strides and kicked himself mentally. He shouldn't have said anything; he wasn't even certain about it to begin with. He knew he shouldn't have, but he was angry too- angry that she'd picked a fight and angry that Potter would have everything he wanted even in death. He was mostly angry at himself, however. Those other things were no more than excuses. Just excuses.

It was too late for him to say anything to make up for the slip, though. Word would spread now- fast. The Weasley clan would know, Smith would tell…whoever he told that sort of thing to. It was inevitable. And whatever friendship he'd been forging with her would lose its tenuous grasp in the ensuing weeks of angry silence from her. He knew her well enough to expect that, at least.

_What were you thinking, you dolt_? He asked over and over, barely listening to Smith. The man at his side talked, distracting him from his chastisement and the determined clicking of Hermione's heels until they reached the door to Mysteries.

* * *

George was already waiting for them outside, the minister at his side. Melusine Dearborn looked tired and careworn, but she stood straight and tall. She gestured to another small witch at her side.

"This is an unspeakable from the department, gentleman- and lady," she added with a nod at Hermione's stony face. "She'll be your guide into the department. Do what you need to. There's already been a memo to the department that if anyone interferes, I'll have his or her head- literally. Have at it." She clasped George's hand firmly and then swept away, presumably back to her offices.

George nodded after her. "She's got as much on her plate as we do- so let's get to work; don't want to disappoint the minister…or half of London, at that."

He didn't say a word to Hermione about the state of her face- splotchy and stern- for which she was grateful. She could always count on George to treat her like the same old Hermione. _Ready to do your job, eh?_ She stuck out her tongue at the voice and it waltzed away, smirking. _Give me some time, _she told it, _and you can lambast me all you like. _The voice complied and she allowed herself a small breath of relief before the unspeakable opened the door and they followed her inside, one after another.

Draco ended up behind Hermione and he resisted the urge to reach out and place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Knowing her, she'd bite it off. He was spared a chuckle at the image when Smith was called forward.

"Tell her what you know about the fellow, Smith," George was saying.

The blonde wizard stared at the short witch doubtfully for a moment before a sturdy prod from George's wand startled him.

"Er, well…my great uncle Hezekiah Smith worked here starting in 1896. He was listed in the employee records of 1947. We know he worked especially with the group of spatiotemporal theorists clear up until the disaster in the early seventies. Sound familiar?"

The witch bristled and cast a stern glance at Smith as if to say, "How old do you think I am?" He took a moment to look somewhat abashed before she replied.

"Not personally, although there's more than one wizard who survived the disaster- I've heard stories about your great uncle, my boy, believe me." The witch, with this newfound information, went over to another door and opened it, ushering them into a new room. "This is the Time Chamber. Some of you," she paused and glanced at Hermione especially, "may recall it."

Hermione felt her cheeks turn red and stared up at the ceiling. Draco decided it best to avoid any further smirking on his part and turned his attention squarely on the unspeakable.

"Yes, we're all familiar with the place. Get on with it."

The squat witch turned a light shade of purple and glared at him before continuing. "There used to be ten offices off of this hall. After the disaster, they only ever recovered six of them. It's very likely that what remains of Hezekiah Smith and other vanished employees lies somewhere within these walls."

"Or on another plane entirely," Hooper pointed out. "In fact, it's highly probable that the disaster back then caused a split in the department. Such tampering with spatiotemporal experiments could have created several alternative dimensions. Smith's great uncle could, in reality, be anywhere in any time, alive or dead, and we'd never be able to locate him."

The little witch harrumphed, visibly bristling like a bird fluffing its feathers. "Young man," she demanded, "where did you get such highly classified information?"

"From me," George murmured, stepping in before Hooper inadvertently caused another disaster for the Department of Mysteries. "Now, what we really want to know is, have you made any progress with locating these lost offices?"

"Well," the witch began, relaxing, "two years ago our head unspeakable wanted to remodel, which would have involved taking out a wall or two. We had the old blueprints as to where those offices were located, but never found a trace of the doorways."

"So did you take the walls out or not?"

"We couldn't," she explained. "Since we couldn't find the doors, but did find an anomaly of some sort in the spaces where the offices used to be, we decided it was too unsafe to try and remove any walls without first figuring out the nature of the anomalies."

"So you haven't really done anything, then?" George asked, puzzled.

"Not quite. We've been testing and trying to discover the nature of the anomalies before deciding what to do with them."

"Did you try putting in a door where there used to be one? Transfiguration? Spells to reveal the wall's original nature?"

The witch shifted uncomfortably and crossed her arms. "Er," she said. "I don't think I should reveal that information to you at this time."

Smith rolled his eyes and turned to Hooper. "You're our resident surprise genius with this stuff," he offered, "Fix their problem so we can save London and get the hell home."

George smacked Smith. "Bossing people around is my job, but thanks for the effort," he commended the other fellow. "Now, what should we do? Who wants to wield the sledgehammer first?"

The unspeakable stared at them in horror. "This is a very delicate chamber! You can't just burst in here and tear down walls- there's no telling what might happen!"

"Madam," Draco soothed, placing an arm about her shoulders and leading her away as Hooper, Smith and George rallied to discuss their efforts, "don't worry about any of this. They're just anxious to save seven million people, you see? Nothing to fret over."

* * *

Hermione snorted and walked over to inspect the wall in question. "You know," she muttered, "we could use the transfiguration spell I used yesterday. That would maintain the structural integrity, at least. I mean, we still don't know what's behind it, but…"

"The disaster could have transported parts of another universe or locale into the space where the office used to be- that's the worst case scenario, as far as I'm concerned," Hooper added, stepping up next to her.

"Right, so…dinosaurs? Let's say that the worst case is there could be part of a Jurassic era rainforest, complete with carnivorous reptiles, behind this wall. It would only be a small piece, right?"

"Or it could effectively be a doorway into that jungle- and if we open this wall then hundreds of dinosaurs may pour out."

"Sounds good. Let's take it down. What's this spell you were talking about, Hermione?" George responded, putting an arm about both of them. Smith stood off to one side, uncertain.

"Dinosaurs? Are you serious?"

Hermione looked back at him and smiled. "Or it could just be your uncle's office, complete with his mummified body. We really can't say for sure."

"Is this even his original office? There were four lost ones, right?" Hooper consulted the blueprint again and George asked Hermione to begin the spell. Smith walked closer and watched as she began to work.

"That's a brilliant spell, Potter," he remarked, watching as the wall slowly curled over on itself, remolding and smoothing around a small arched doorway.

She grinned. "I really am the only one here who paid attention in Charms second year, aren't I?"

"You were the only one not worried about being devoured by a giant snake, yeah," George reassured her.

"That must've been amazing," Hooper spouted. "You know, we all heard the stories, but it just wasn't the same as being there, I imagine. It's just not fair! You all got to experience everything as it happened, but all we got was a couple of lousy battles. No great discoveries or anything. Yeah, the Carrows blew, but really, Hogwarts was ridiculously safe after all that basilisk business was out of the way-."

"Hooper," Smith interrupted.

"Yeah?" The younger wizard looked up from his blueprints.

"Shut it."

"George," Hermione muttered out of the corner of her mouth, "where was this one living the whole time he was at school? Under a rock?"

George avoided laughing aloud by biting his lip. He tossed a glance over his shoulder at Draco and the unspeakable. Still keeping her busy and quiet. Good. All the other members of Mysteries seemed to be keeping out of their way, which he appreciated. At least some wizards and witches seemed to obey the minister's authority. Draco suddenly shot him a pained look and he realized their time of peace was nearing an end. They'd have to stupefy an unspeakable soon, if they didn't hurry up.

"Er. Hermione, love?" he asked. The witch looked up and sighed, her doorway almost finished. "Think you could hurry it a little? And teach that spell to me?"

She nodded in understanding and gave him the name, then explained it while finishing up the arch she was working on. He nodded and motioned to Smith and Hooper, passing the information along, then turned to the completed and darkened door in front of them.

"No dinosaurs," he smiled, nudging her. She glared at him and put a hand at the small of her back.

"Not the ribs, please," she replied stiffly, but agreed. "No dinosaurs."

"Is that disappointment I detect?" George laughed. "Come on, let's see what's in here. _Lumos_."

He held the wand high and poked his head in the door. His eyes took in a dimly lit office space, dusty, but wizard free. Disappointed, he stepped back.

"Nothing here, but it is one of the long missing offices," he reported. "Which means the rest of them probably will be in tact as well."

"So why couldn't an entire team of unspeakable figure out that the anomaly they were detecting was just an office space?"

"They're mental, all of them," George replied before turning to the final wall. Hermione watched as he worked the spell and then cast a glance at Smith and Hooper, were also casting it without any problems. She looked back in Draco's direction and gave a start as she saw the unspeakable turning around.

"George-," she began, "we need to hurry up."

"I know that-!" he responded shortly just as Hooper gave a small cry. They turned from their own jobs and left the other doors half finished, heedless of the danger they might pose.

George and Smith stopped just behind Hooper and former put a hand out to keep Hermione back. Until she growled at him, that is.

"Sorry," he mumbled and made space for her to see.

"Does everyone know?" she hissed in return.

The redhead cringed and shook his head. "I think Hooper's not clear on it- but it's not my fault! Draco let slip."

Hermione scowled and peered over Hooper's shoulder, ending the conversation. She would definitely have to have a word with Draco later, but that could wait. For now, they needed to find out what Hooper had exclaimed over.

"What is it?" Smith asked, squinting into the darkness.

"_Lumos_." The younger wizard held his wand up and stepped into the archway. All anyone could see at first was cobwebs and dust, but forms eventually took shape and it was clear they were looking into another office. Hooper spoke over his shoulder to them.

"I know I heard something coming from in here- I thought it might be…"

There was a wheezing noise from a corner and the others jumped. "Ah-ha!" Hooper exclaimed happily, stepping further into the space. "I knew it!"

Smith walked around him, his own wand held high. "Knew what? What have you found? It looks like just another empty, dusty office to me."

Just then they all heard it- a raspy noise, as if someone- or something- was attempting to speak.

"Whaaaa-?" came the sound again. Smith paled to a shade which rivaled Draco's natural coloring. "Whaaa-?"

Finally, George found an old lamp in a corner and flicked it on. Surprisingly, it buzzed and flickered its way to life. Unsurprisingly, it shorted out five minutes later, taking the rest of the department with it. The team looked at one another guiltily in the dim wand light and listened with some trepidation to the frightened shrieks of the unspeakable they'd left with Draco.

"Whaaat…" the disembodied voice spoke up again, only to fall into a coughing fit.

"What is it?" Smith asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Courage had never been one of his strengths.

George shrugged. "A ghost? A relative of Myrtle, perhaps."

"Oh, stop being so ridiculous!" Hermione snorted. She swept past the others in order to inspect the corners of the office. "It's obviously an old man who hasn't spoken to anyone in decades. Now get out of my way. Ghosts, indeed. Outside of Hogwarts I highly doubt their existence."

"Whaaat…i- i- iiiissss…" the voice fell to more coughing, which led Hermione straight to the culprit. She stood staring down at him a moment, somewhat horrified both by his condition and the knowledge that he had sat here, like this, for decades and not one wizard from the ministry had realized it. "Hezekiah Smith?" she asked, looking for other signs of life from him. He only raised a few fingers as if in greeting and then coughed some more.

"Whaaat…is…thaaat…" he mumbled again, responding to the foolish yells of the unspeakables outside.

"What's that racket?" she asked the disturbingly mummified fellow crouched over by the radiator. He managed to raise his head and cocked one overgrown, bushy eyebrow at her. "Is that what you meant? It's just some stupid witch. Never mind her. We'll have you out of here so you can destroy her personally in a jiff."

"Ha- has the min-is-try finally re- re- reeeemodled?" he asked in return. He tried desperately to cling to the arm she was offering, but his hands kept slipping away.

Hermione turned and glared at George and the others, sending them into action. Smith ran forward and knelt beside the man, putting both arms about him and helping him up. George took his other side and together, the two men managed to haul the extremely old and extremely starved wizard out of the office.

* * *

Draco met them in the hall, strong-arming their guide. "Oh! Fantastic!" he exclaimed, all the while managing the struggling and unhappy witch in his custody. "So you found him, then?"

George grinned and nodded. "He's not in very good shape, but Smith here will take care of him for us, eh?"

"Wonderful," the other wizard replied, promptly foisting the unspeakable off on Hooper. "Now we can get the hell out of here, hand our information over to the warders along with this fellow, and be done with the whole damned business, right?" When George didn't reply immediately, Draco's face fell. "Don't tell me you need us for something else? What more can we do?"

Hermione watched the conversation with growing anxiety and looked at Smith and his uncle. Sure, the old man would probably need someone some looking after and a speedy recovery before he could truly help them, but any decent healer would be able to do that for them. Why should they have to stay any longer? They'd spent days awake, risked life and limb, and even solved a decades old mystery for the department _named _after them, for Merlin's sake! What more could George ask of them? She felt her frustration with the situation and a sharp pang passed through her chest. Hermione gave a strangled cry and caught her hands to her abdomen.

The stress wasn't doing her any favors…she needed to go home and be with her daughter. She hadn't realized until then how much she missed Viola, how much she had wanted all this to be over. How much she needed to go home and hold Vi and cry about the things she could never have again. She needed to sit down and talk things out with Ginny and Neville, to be close to Viola, to explain to her little girl that her father had left them both with something wonderful…no matter how much it would hurt to bring this new one into the world alone, without Harry. She looked up and saw Smith staring at her strangely and felt at her cheeks.

They were damp, and she was crying. Damn it! Not now! Not already! She had to get home immediately- she turned away from the group and held her arms close to her body, as if that would steady her. Then she began walking- away, towards the door, into the outer chamber, across the marble floor to the exit.

She vaguely registered some questions and calls- from George? But it didn't matter, suddenly. She had to leave. Nothing could keep her from Viola now. They were as good as finished with the case; she wasn't a necessary component any longer. What was there left to do? The man was Smith's relative, after all. Let _him _deal with the elderly wizard. She could leave. She was free from this nightmare- free to step into a brand new one and she was eager for it to start.

Eager because it meant she would finally be able to begin the healing process, truly. No more planning, no more thinking ahead. Now she could just _be _for a while, with her daughter and her unborn child and her thoughts. She was looking forward to it: to being a mother for a while, a widow. _Harry…we'll grieve for you. There's time for it now and I'm sorry I let them stop me from doing it before, but you have my time and my heart now- just as you always did._

She was roused from her thoughts by a hand upon her arm and it caught her up short, forced her to turn and face someone. Hermione passed a hand over her eyes, wiping briefly at the tears which didn't seem to want to stop, and looked up.

"What is it," she murmured, not caring about the answer. Not caring…

The man before her paused, puzzled. Of course they all wanted to go home. Of course he wanted to be with his son and bury his wife and curl up and die, himself, but they still had work to do. Couldn't she hold up just a little longer? What was he supposed to tell George when it was obvious Hermione couldn't _do _this anymore? What was George supposed to do when none of them could do it anymore? The woman before him made a pathetic snuffling sound and attempted to wipe her eyes again.

Draco frowned and resisted the urge to take her in his arms. If ever a person needed to be held then, it was her- but he restrained himself. She didn't want to be held by him. Never mind the unseemliness of it all; she was still mad at him about earlier, no doubt. He never should have crossed the line that way- he never should have pushed their relationship. It was only in the midst of this tragedy that he'd finally found the courage to show his feelings to her once more…and it had been entirely the wrong time. His own heart was broken for the second time, by a wife he hadn't loved until recently, and he had no business pretending that he could mend it so soon afterwards. He had no business asking Hermione to do that for him when he'd broken hers just as badly so many years ago.

Her grief was overwhelming to him and he grimaced, then released her arm. "I'm sorry," he gasped out, holding back his own tears. "I'm sorry."

She only nodded, turned, and continued to walk away.

"Where are you going?" he called after her. They couldn't be of comfort to one another, but he could at least make sure she got home safely. "Let me drive you."

She kept walking and he caught up to her. "Let me at least call you a taxi. I'll make sure Ginny knows you're coming over."

Five minutes later, Draco put a silent Hermione into a cab on the avenue above the ministry. He gave the driver the address and then leaned in the back window to speak to the bereaved witch.

"Say hello to Viola for me. And…when you're ready, give me a call. We can talk."

At that, Hermione looked up and some of that familiar spark returned to the dull brown eyes. She gave him a very, very small smile and placed one of her hands in his, giving it the briefest of squeezes.

"I'm sorry too, Draco." He smiled tentatively at her and began to reach a hand towards her face, but she pulled away. Their smiles disappeared and she closed her eyes before speaking again. "But there's nothing to talk about. Not for a long time, I'm afraid. Good bye. Tell George I'm sorry, but he knows where to find me."

With that, she rolled up the window and motioned to the driver. Draco stood back, trying to keep the shock from taking over his body. What was there to be shocked about, after all? She was right. There was nothing to talk about and they each had lives to get on with.

Steeling himself, he watched the taxi drive away and then turned to reenter the ministry. He needed to get back to work. They were a man short, now.

* * *

**Author's Note: I wasn't able to meet my goal of finishing before I leave, I'm afraid. I fly out tomorrow afternoon for Germany and will be gone until mid July. That's when you can expect me to continue. (Because I will continue, I promise. This thing is nowhere near over, blast it all.) Thanks for your understanding! And don't worry, Draco and Hermione will totally get it on before this thing is over. **


	30. Where the Sidewalk

**Disclaimer: I've been away so long, I've forgotten what I'm supposed to say…well, we all know I don't own any of this stuff, so let's leave it at that. J.K. Rowling owns it all, blah blah. Blah. (For good measure.)**

* * *

_I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart.  
I am.  
I am.  
I am.  
-Sylvia Plath_

* * *

Draco's steps were slow in returning him to the department. When he finally entered the hall again, he was met by a concerned Hooper.

"Where's Ms. Potter, sir?"

Draco looked up at him wearily and shook his head. "She's gone home, Hooper." The younger man began to protest, but Draco raised a hand and smiled weakly. "What would you have me do? Her husband is dead; she's got a young child to look after. Let her go and don't question my actions. She's finished and quite frankly, I don't blame her for leaving. We've been run ragged. No one should have to experience so much tragedy in so short a time. Let her go and for Merlin's sake, leave me alone or I'll quit now too."

The other man was silent for a moment as he accompanied Draco back into Mysteries. After a few seconds he spoke again, this time to inform Draco of what had happened while he was gone.

Draco sighed with relief and accepted the briefing gladly.

* * *

Hermione practically fell from the prepaid cab in her haste to reach Viola. The driver looked after her in a concerned manner, but she was gone so quickly he didn't even have a chance to bid her farewell.

She patted at her flushed and damp cheeks hastily while she waited for someone to open the door to The Burrow. "Molly? Ginny?" she called. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest and it felt difficult to breathe.

The door opened and she saw her daughter come hurtling down the hall towards her. "Mummy!" screeched the small girl and Hermione began to laugh with relief as she caught the little girl up in her arms in a fierce hug.

Ginny came around into the kitchen and smiled tiredly. "Finished?"

Hermione nodded, still hanging onto Viola for dear life. Everything else seemed to melt away for the briefest of moments as she realized that it truly was finished. The fight to save London, the fight against true evil in the wizarding world, the years of adventure. The years of being a part of something so historic, of being a part of a generation of heroes, were finally over with.

She could descend now into the obscurity Harry had always wanted and would never know.

Her arms held her daughter even more tightly until she felt Viola begin to struggle. She knew she was holding the girl too tight, but her daughter was being blessedly silent and trying to bear her mother's semi-suffocating embrace as best she could. Her child understood her need for this closeness and it made her heart swell with the sort of happiness she knew they both needed. Hermione released her then and held her back. "Are you ready to go home, Vi?"

Viola's eyes were shining brightly with tears and she nodded. "I have to get my stuff, Mummy. Wait for me!" Then she took off down the hall again and Hermione could hear her small feet pounding up the stairs, shouts and giggles of Ronald following her. She looked up to Ginny and straightened up.

The red haired witch walked across the kitchen and dumped some coffee mugs in the sink then turned to face her oldest friend. "Neville contacted me about thirty minutes ago to tell me he was heading over to the ministry to get the first scoop. I guess Fred phoned him."

Hermione was immediately wary. "Oh?" She knew Fred would've also spilled about her condition, not that it mattered anymore. Since they were pretty much finished with London, she would have informed everyone soon enough. "So I guess you know, then."

Ginny smiled timidly. "He mentioned something about motherhood, yes." She was suddenly across the room and hugging Hermione before the other witch knew what was happening. "You know we're all here for you, Hermione," she whispered.

Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes once more and deepened the embrace gladly. "I know, Gin," she replied softly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"Don't apologize- I understand your reasons. You've got more on your mind than I do." She pulled away and held her friend by the shoulders, giving them an encouraging squeeze. "Besides, I know now and I'm not going to let you do all this by yourself. None of us are, I hope you realize. Even Percy's attempted to crawl from his room to offer his help."

Hermione wrinkled her nose and shook her head firmly. "Oh, no. He can curl up and- well, you know what I mean. It'll be a long time before I forgive him his incompetency, Ginny."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "You plan on forgiving him? Even Mum isn't speaking to the git right now. Anyway," she continued, shaking her head, "enough of that. You're going home right now. Need someone with you? I can help you sort through things. We got rather good at that when Ron…" her voice trailed off and Hermione watched her carefully.

"Not at the moment. Maybe first thing tomorrow…or the day after that. I have to…" she paused, searching for what to say. What _was _she going to be doing? "I think I have to go back to Mungo's and fill out some paperwork for release of- of the-," she stopped altogether then, and Ginny pulled her close once more.

"Let me go with you for _that _at least," she murmured. "You can't do that alone. We won't let you, you know."

Hermione nodded gratefully and returned her friend's hug. Viola came rushing back into the room just then, Ronald and Molly following her.

"I'm ready to go, Mummy!" the little girl announced. Ronald came to stand next to her and smiled at his mother and god mother.

"I helped her pack," he added. Molly rested a hand on each child's head and smiled down at them fondly.

"If you have something else to take care of first, I'll be glad to watch them a while longer," she offered. Hermione looked from her to Viola's now disappointed face and shook her head.

"Thank you for everything, Molly, and I'm sure I'll be seeing plenty of you in the coming weeks, but right now I think Vi and I need some time together. Ginny's just offered to come with back to Mungo's, but after that we're going to spend a few days by ourselves, I think. Right, my angel?" she addressed her daughter, smiling softly.

The little girl smiled widely and nodded. "Right." Then she turned and gave her surrogate grandmother and god brother hugs, before walking forward to take her mother's hand. Hermione looked over to Ginny before smiling at Molly one last time and then turning to walk out the door, the promise to return and see her friends soon still lingering in the air.

* * *

George stared at Draco strangely. "You did what?"

"I packed her into a taxi and sent her off to collect her daughter. She's worn out, George. We both are and we've got funeral arrangements to make on top of taking care of our children. So if you don't mind, I've just ordered another cab for myself."

His superior in age and rank continued to stare until he finally shook his head and turned away. "Alright. Do what you have to do."

Draco watched the man's back for a minute. "George, don't be that way."

The red head turned back around and smiled. "Be what way? I just gave you your freedom for the time being. There's nothing I can do about Hermione, because she's not the head of a department and Mum _and _Ginny would strangle me if I kept her any longer anyhow. You _are _the head of your department and as such, can take whatever leave you need without checking with me- besides, Hermione was right and it _is _mine and Smith's problem now. You two have waited long enough to get on with it. I should never have asked so much of either of you, but I'm glad I did. And now you deserve several weeks off." He smiled sadly. "It's a well-earned and unfortunately necessary vacation for you both. Take it with the ministry's blessing. We can handle things from here, easy."

Draco could tell the older man was holding something back, but he didn't much care by that point. He fully believed George was the best man for the job and trusted him completely. So whatever else the man needed to investigate, London would be safe again within the next twenty-four hours and Draco could leave with a clear conscience…regarding the case, at any rate. Regarding his family he felt a little differently, but there was no helping that.

So, shaking George's hand and telling him to call day or night if he needed anything else, Draco left the building as swiftly as possible. He needed to go relieve Ornella and check in with the healers on his son's condition. He had a family to see to, no matter how small it was.

His heart contracted somewhat and he smiled painfully to himself. _No matter how much I hope to rectify that in the future._ He climbed in the cab, still chastising himself and hoping that Pansy, wherever she was now, would forgive him someday for not loving her enough- not loving her the way he should have. It seemed to him that wherever his life took him, a bushy brown haired bookworm would always go with him, in his heart of hearts.

Draco turned his face to the window and let the tears fall that he'd been waiting for since two nights ago.

Tears he'd been waiting for, in some ways, his entire life.

* * *

George walked back to Smith, who was sitting with his great uncle, Hezekiah, and a healer. The old man already looked far healthier than he had when they'd first found him. There remained a hint of the mummified old man they'd first spotted, but the wizard now had a spot of color in his cheeks and was waving his arms about and speaking loudly to the healer about how he could button his own damn shirt. George smiled.

"So, Hezekiah Smith," he began, looking down at his clipboard of information. The elderly man glared.

"I am," he spouted. "And what's this about accidental splinchings and the collapse of the wards? What the hell kind of trouble did you young people get us into?"

George soothed him as best he could while hiding a smile. "Mr. Smith, I'm George Weasley, Acting Vice Minister, and that's what I've come to discuss with you. We did make a bit of a mess of things- in fact, several people have died because of the Department of Mysteries _and _the previous vice minister, but that's all behind us now. What we need is your help so that our warders can fix the problem- swiftly."

Hezekiah's beady eyes narrowed before the old Unspeakable grinned and wheezed a bit. "Fine, you've got my help, _Acting _Vice Minister Weasley. By the way, is your family as large and obnoxious as it's ever been, by the way?"

George smiled easily and held out his hand to help the geezer up. "Why don't you come join us for dinner some night after we've taken care of this problem and find out? Bring your troublesome nephew with you."

Smith rolled his eyes and stood, taking Hezekiah's other arm while the old man continued to wheeze. Then, with the healer in tow, the three wizards exited the old hallway to meet with the warding team. They still had several hours' work ahead of them before _anyone _would be getting a decent meal, but he supposed that after being locked in a timeless room for over three decades, the man needed some impetus for helping them out now rather than going into a nursing home…or dropping dead on the spot.

Still…this was his relative, one he'd thought he'd never know, certainly. It filled Zacharias with a sense of longing he hadn't felt for a very long time. And gratitude for Hermione's determined work. In spite of the fact that he'd never truly done anything great for her or Gryffindor, she's helped him unconditionally, whether she realized it or not.

Everyone had- and not just because they were trying to save London, but also because they were each trying to save themselves. Everyone had lost something to the ministry's incompetence at some time in their lives and to help a fellow wizard regain _family _was more important to them all than they even knew. He recognized that and was grateful beyond words.

He cast a smile at George over the old man's head and his superior smiled in return.

"Good work, Smith," the red head mouthed to him.

The former coward and defector felt his cheeks turn red and nodded curtly. What was the feeling swelling in his chest all of a sudden? He wasn't familiar with it, whatever it was…love? The knowledge of being accepted, wanted? No…it was the feeling he'd heard others speak of- the realization that one had done a good job and was needed and respected- finally.

It was pride.

Zacharias Smith glanced back at George and grinned a little. George nodded with approval and looked forward once again. Success lay between them comfortably and the two men continued to help the wizard between them return to the world of the living.

* * *

With Ginny there to help, Hermione was finally able to see her husband one last time. She went through the task of signing the appropriate papers first and then had to convince the officers in charge that she wanted to see the body. They were reluctant to let her in at first, the implications of which made her stomach drop into her lower belly. She knew what that meant. What those words meant: are you sure you want to see the body, Ms. Potter?

She'd nodded firmly and kept her chin up and finally she was in the morgue and the examiner on duty was pulling out a drawer. The place was dreadfully cold, especially after the shock she was feeling from the last two days, but she'd stood there, shivering, and gazed down at Harry's marred face.

It was the last time she'd get to see it, after all, burns and lacerations or not.

"Harry," she'd murmured softly, as if expecting him to open his eyes and gaze up at her. The examiner had shifted uncomfortably on his feet until Hermione had looked at him and pointedly asked for a moment alone. The young man looked somewhat abashed and had complied swiftly.

In the silence that followed, Hermione felt very strange. It was as if every moment of her life had come to a point in that one instant of her standing in the morgue at St. Mungo's, staring down into her husband's face for the last time. She'd lifted a hand, ready to touch his cheek, but she stopped short and let her hand drop back to her side.

This wasn't how she wanted to remember him: cold and dead, skin unresponsive to her touch, blush of health forever gone from his face. She wanted to remember how his arms had felt about her, how warm and alive he was, how his skin and body responded eagerly to her touch.

Resisting the urge to kiss him goodbye, Hermione had turned and called for the examiner, who'd stepped back inside quickly. Then she'd turned to look at him one final time. Her hand had moved of its own accord to graze his cold, cold cheek ever so briefly before she'd stepped away. The other man had rolled the drawer shut then, watching Hermione nervously from the corner of his eye. She'd ignored him.

_Goodbye, Harry. I'm sorry I couldn't say that outloud, just now. But none of this seems real, does it? I know what you'd tell me, if you were really here right now- you'd tell me I was being silly and that I needed to move on, to take care of Viola first and make myself happy, too. I know you, you brave, _stupid _wizard. Well, I can't. I know I'm perfectly capable of moving on, hypothetically at least, but there's just one small problem with that: I don't want to. I love you, you stupid git, and I can't change that. I imagine I'll probably love you the rest of my love, no matter how many years pass without you here. _

She'd sighed to herself and had placed her hand on the drawer before her. Her last thoughts were delivered swiftly and without tears before she had finally escaped the room; and escape she did. The feeling of unreality, in addition to the shock of seeing Harry, always so full of life, dead, had wreaked its havoc after all. Her feelings were confused and sorrowful and the only thing she'd felt sure of at that particular moment was that she had no love left in her now except for her children. If she ever married again, it would not be because she planned to.

_You may be gone, but you took my heart with you, you foolish wizard. You took my heart- and the only love I have left now is for my daughter…and the child who'll grow up not knowing you. _

_I wish I could say I'm sorry that I don't have it. I wish I wanted to have it back, at all. At least then that would mean I wouldn't be alone the rest of my life. But I'm not sorry. And I don't want it back. It was yours when I married you and it will stay yours, Harry. _

_I miss you, my love. Oh, how I miss you already. _

_Come back to me._

She'd practically been a blubbering mess by the time she exited the morgue and had met Ginny standing outside, holding Viola. Rather, she'd thought she was. Ginny had smiled when she saw her and simply handed her a handkerchief.

"I thought you might need one of these. How are you?"

Hermione had smiled gratefully in return and used the handkerchief extensively before she'd murmured a soft reply and then retrieved her daughter. In reality the entirety of the visit to Mungo's had taken only thirty minutes before she and Vi had been on their way again, back to the quiet flat they called home. The final pleasantries exchanged with Ginny had involved a small argument about being escorted back home and would they be back for Barclay's waking, as promised? Hermione had refused to discuss it just then, but she knew she wouldn't be able to worm out of seeing Draco again. How could she break up the friendship of her daughter that way after the girl had just lost her father? It would have been unthinkable.

It would have been unbearable, possibly for both of them.

* * *

So now, Hermione was standing in the foyer of the flat, still holding Viola's hand and wishing desperately that they'd come home to _someone_.

"Mummy?" came her daughter's small voice. She looked down at her. "Mummy, can I put my things away?" Viola was still holding her book pack, though it was actually dragging on the ground behind her. Hermione smiled and nodded.

"Of course, love," she remarked and watched Vi extricate her hand and run off to her room. Hermione finally picked up her feet and moved forward to the living room. She felt it was important to take a moment in each space of the flat and remember that she would never see Harry there again. Otherwise, she'd imagine that every dark head of hair that appeared over the back of the armchair belonged to him. Or that every footstep in the front hall was his. Or that every hand on her shoulder was him, turning her for a kiss or a hug. She absentmindedly brought a hand to her face and rubbed her cheek gently for a moment…tenderly.

_Harry_. The name would be on her mind constantly now, in an effort to keep him with her. Even absent, he would be her strength. She knew that well enough. The child growing inside her was a reminder. Perhaps someday she would think of it as a blessing as well. Right now, all she could do was try and survive and be there for her child…her children.

The afternoon sun was just coming through the west facing windows and she moved towards the doorway of their bedroom. The sheets were still mussed from the last time they'd made love. Was it three days ago? The day he'd died. Hermione felt her heart beat wildly once more and she grasped the doorframe for support.

This wasn't really happening, was it? Her husband dead, her pregnant, the best friend of her daughter the son of her rival and the reason for her husband's death. It was like the horrible plot of some soap opera. When she'd first agreed to marry Harry, she'd never thought for a moment that they would ever be apart- they'd been together for so long already. And now, to have been married for just six short years and have lost him? It was like having a taste of everything she'd thought she ever wanted only to have it ripped from her, leaving her with just a shell of her former life.

She didn't direct her anger at Harry, though she was sure that might come at some point. It was much more convenient to blame the ministry, Malfoy even, for leading her to this. She could've had that much more time with Harry if she hadn't wasted so much time dealing with Draco and Death Eaters and general incompetency at the ministry for so long. No, all she felt for Harry now was the gaping hole in her chest where her heart should have been. She didn't know if the hole would ever heal or not.

There was a sudden but gentle touch on her hand and she looked down to see that Viola had followed her back into the master bedroom. The little girl, green eyes sparkling mischievously like her father's, pointed to the bed.

"Mummy, do you need to make your bed? I can help."

Hermione managed a small smile and wiped at her eyes before replying. "Really, Vi? Do you think it's too messy?"

"Uh-huh. You never let me leave my bed in the morning."

The two of them, one woman and one child, stood in the doorway, observing the situation in the room a moment longer. Vi screwed up her eyes critically and then spoke again.

"Mummy, does Daddy have to make his bed in Heaven, too?" She was looking up at her mother with such innocent curiosity that Hermione could feel something swell in her chest and she suddenly knew that the hole would heal, eventually. She had lives to take care of outside her own now and the love she felt for them was coming from somewhere, certainly. She supposed that Harry didn't really need all of her heart where he was now.

"Oh, my darling," she gasped out and unhesitatingly swept her daughter into a hug. "I really have no idea. But you're absolutely right about the mess. Come help me pick out clean sheets, okay?"

Viola nodded seriously and minutes later they were lost in the linen cupboard, the most important thing on their minds being whether a solid or a print was more fashionable, according to the tastes of the average primary school student.

Four year olds, Viola sternly told her mother, preferred a jersey knit sheet in a bright, sometimes geometric, pattern.

Harry did not pass as a topic of conversation the remainder of the day, much to the relief of both their hearts.

* * *

**Author's Note: Yes, I'm sorry for being away so long. I hope I haven't lost my touch (or lost touch) with the story, but I feel strangely dissatisfied with it at the moment. I may edit it later on, but for now, here is the next chapter.**


	31. New Purposes

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_A heart can be broken, but it will keep beating just the same.  
-Ninny Threadgoode: Fried Green Tomatoes_

* * *

The sun was setting already, somewhat early for late summer. Then again, the weather hadn't exactly been normal the last few weeks. Probably something to do with the wards. Still, the orb was a bright yellow and left a trail of orange behind itself as it slipped beneath the horizon- a line made up of apartment buildings and high rises.

Hermione liked living in the city, but it had never been her and Harry's first choice for a home. They'd both imagined buying a house outside the city- a cottage, perhaps- and settling down with a few more children as their positions allowed. Money had never been a problem, Hermione had known that when she married him. It had always been the timing they could never seem to get quite right.

They'd wanted to wait to have children and Viola had come along. They'd wanted to live in a town home and then vandals had burned down Grimmauld Place. They'd wanted to work fewer hours and then the splinchings had begun. It was madness, really.

Hermione was smiling as she reminisced, though. That of itself was amusing to her, really. They'd tried to remember old times so often before and always failed miserably. Now that she had no one to remember them with, she had all the time in the world. It wasn't fair, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Her and Harry's relationship, as strong and loving as it had been- as it would remain- had always had its troubles. In some ways, she felt like Harry, at least, had always known something like this would happen. She shook her head at herself and sighed.

_Stop it,_ she commanded. _You're not doing yourself any favors by rehashing things this way. You had a husband whom you loved very much. He had a dangerous job. He…he died. That's all there is to it. These things happen, as nasty and unfair and horrid as they are._

She heard the hum from the hall stop and stood from her seat in the kitchen. The sheets were done drying. The thought brought another smile to her lips. If there was one thing she and Harry had agreed on the entire time they'd known one another, it was the usefulness of muggle inventions. But then, they'd always understood one another implicitly when it came to muggles. After all, it was one of the commonalities in their lives.

Sometimes, a simple scourging spell just wouldn't cut it. Besides, she'd rather the sheets she'd once used with Harry smell like lavender and vanilla. It was one of their favorite fabric softener scents, after all. And if she had to go to sleep in their marriage bed alone, she'd rather it smelled nice than like three day old sweat and sex.

There was simply no point to hanging onto such things. Her physical life with Harry was over. She would box up his clothes and give most of them to charity; she would save his favorite tie just because she needed to keep _something_; she would lovingly put photos of him upon the walls so she didn't forget what he looked like- because people did, eventually. She knew that. She'd grieved before and just because it was her husband this time didn't make it any different, only, perhaps, longer and _harder_.

Viola was in bed already, a cup of cocoa warming her belly and a kiss lingering upon her cheek as she drifted to sleep in the safety of her own home: the only home she'd ever known. Hermione wondered if that would ever change. It was a large flat with sizeable rooms and decent storage…even she and Harry had imagined they wouldn't need to move until, perhaps, their children were teenagers. There was a nice view out the windows of a park that lay just a block away and one could almost see the towers and newer high rises of the historic city rising up in the distance.

Yes, it was a pleasant flat and a bearable home to have for the next few years, at the least. Hermione didn't imagine it would be easy to live with so many reminders of Harry, but it was expected. No matter how many books she packed away or clothes she donated, he would always be there. She felt surprisingly calm with the thought. She knew there would be more tears to come; there was no doubt of it, but for the moment she was quiet and collected.

Shaking her head, she padded into to the hall and into the small laundry room where she pulled the now warm and dry sheets out. Folding them with the help of a small bar on the wall beside the machines, she turned the sheets over on themselves until they were neat packages and tucked them under her arm. Then she turned off the light and returned the sheets back across the hall to the linen closet.

There was no point in not maintaining normalcy and clean living spaces. She'd deal with crying fits and depression as it came, as she knew it would. There was no denying the sorrow and she had no intentions of hiding how she felt or keeping the world from her front door. Hermione knew it would get easier with time.

It always did…but that didn't mean her grief would end, either. She knew that too. Those moments would always exist where a stray thought, an unexpected event, or a wave of emotion would suddenly remind her of him, of their life together. Her tears for what she and her family had lost would never be finished.

But it would get easier. The periods of dry eyes would get longer. And eventually her heart would be whole again; it would be returned to her without her even realizing it, the process would be so gradual. In a small way, she looked forward to that day. Hermione wanted to honor her and Harry's life together with the happiness and joy they had experienced together. She wanted to _live_- for her children's sake and her own. For Harry. He deserved that much.

As she placed the clean linens on a shelf and began to close the door on them, tears filled her eyes again, without warning. She was caught by the literal shelving she was doing of their life together. Cleaning sheets and clothing, packing them away in boxes or on shelves- was that what she really wanted to do with her memories? With what remained of him?

_It's necessary, _she told herself stalwartly, closing the door firmly and then leaning back against it. She brought a hand up and wiped away her tears. _It has to be done. Of course I don't want to lose these physical reminders…but he's never coming back. Never. I won't ever feel his arms about me; why should I torture myself by keeping a shirt he'll never fill again? Why?_

The voice in her head had no comeback and she laughed wryly. _There are other ways to keep him with me. But even then he'll fade, eventually. It can't be helped. _The hole in her chest contracted around nothingness so painfully then that she found herself sliding to the floor. Her arms went about her knees and she rested her cheek against them.

_It has to be done. For our sanity. But I'm so very, very sorry about it, Harry. You'll never know how sorry I am. I can't keep you with me forever. I don't know if I have the strength to try. Besides, I have the greatest reminders of all: two children. I'm twice the woman I ever was because of you, Harry._

_You couldn't have left me with a greater gift. _

_But I have to go on._

Hermione sat on the floor of the hall, letting a few stray tears escape for sometime. She wasn't sure how long she sat, but she remained there until the shadows grew long and all remainders of sunlight had left the horizon. Finally, as the hallway became too dim to see, she slowly rose and made her way back into the master bedroom. She was leaving a mug on the kitchen table, but the dishes had already sat in the sink for two days already. They could last another night until she rose in the morning…if she slept at all.

Pausing in the doorway of her daughter's bedroom, she reassured herself that Viola was sleeping soundly; her precious child's dreams undisturbed by the past two day's events. She left the door of the master suite open anyway. If Viola _or _herself should wake up in the middle of the night, there should be no question of where to go. The lines of communication between herself and Viola needed to stay open in the coming months, if either of them were going to survive.

With tears shining bright and unshed in her eyes once again, she crawled into the empty bed, laid her head back onto the pillow and prayed for sleep. They would survive. She would survive.

There were no other choices.

* * *

Across town, back at St. Mungo's, Draco had convinced Ornella to go home and get some well earned rest.

"And what about yourself?" she'd demanded, cornering him with a stern, but tired, look.

"I'm his father," Draco had firmly replied. "I've been up practically for two days straight; I can survive another night- especially as it's my son I'm waiting up with."

"I want to be here for him too, Draco," the older witch had protested. Draco had stood fast.

"I'm younger and stronger. You need the rest. I know your health hasn't been all it ought to be the last few years, Ornella. Don't even think you can pull one over on me. You need the rest more than I do. Now go home and sleep, please. Let me take care of him tonight. I'm used to sleeping in hospital chairs, remember?"

At that gentle reminder of his past sorrows with Pansy, Ornella finally caved in. Her face softened and she gave him a sympathetic embrace before stepping towards the door.

"Alright, but I'll be back tomorrow morning. And you'd better have eaten something, young man!" She smiled at him. "Take care of yourself, Draco." _And my grandson._

He'd nodded at her and she'd retreated from the room while he situated himself in the seat next to Barclay's bed. He dropped his chin to his chest as he watched the boy- his precious, beautiful child- breathing quietly. Barclay's eyelids moved every so often, as though he was dreaming, and his fingers occasionally curled around his bed clothes. Those were good signs, at least. They showed brain activity and it also meant the healers had lowered the dose of drugs they were filtering into his system. All signs that he was healing, as predicted.

_Without Potter's magic…_the words of the last healer he'd spoken to echoed in Draco's mind. HE still wasn't sure how to feel over all that. Yes, he was grateful to Potter his son was alive, but on the other hand he hated to see Hermione so hurt. Not to mention that precocious daughter of his. Viola had provided more unconditional love for Barclay and himself than he was ever sure Hermione could give. Even if they both managed to move past losing their respective spouses, he didn't know if Hermione would ever look at him the same…especially once she knew the whole story of Barclay's rescue.

_Give her some credit, _a voice told him. _She's already accepted that her husband died to save a child- your child. She's stronger than you think. _He smiled sadly to himself and reached a hand out, taking his son's small fingers in his own. _I know how strong she is. I don't doubt her ability to accept Harry's sacrifice for an innocent child. Even for my child. What I do doubt is her ability to love me. _The voice scoffed at him. _She loved you before, despite how horrid you were to her growing up…and let's face it: you were awful to her. Any normal witch would have cut off your balls for confessing your love to her after so many years of mistreatment. _

He shook his head and held Barclay's hand more tightly. The voice was quiet for several minutes as he ran over the list of things to do in his mind. He was sure Ornella would help him with arrangements, but he didn't want to burden her with such things. No, he was Pansy's husband. He needed to take care of the funeral. It was what Pansy would have wanted, he felt sure: to finally show responsibility towards her and his family. Rather, to start showing responsibility _again. _He'd shown plenty, after all, during the war.

_But even then, not soon enough for her tastes, is that what you were about to think, Draco? _The voice came back with a vengeance. _Give it a rest, man! You've beaten yourself up enough over the years. Pansy knew you didn't love her completely when she married you. She knew you still cared for Hermione- she _always _knew. So if you're feeling sorry for yourself, or guilty, or whatever over all that, now's the time to stop it. _

_She didn't marry you because you were the be all and end all of her life, either. You both did what you had to in order to survive and when times got tough, you stayed together. That counts for an awful lot. You were children when you got married and neither one of you bothered to get to know one another as adults- once you both finally grew up. That's more typical than you'd think. Stop moping about what an awful husband you were._

Draco sighed and raked a hand through his hair, the other hand still holding onto Barclay. He gazed at his son sorrowfully as he tried to rationalize the guilt he felt. The truth was, he knew he'd been a decent husband and father. He'd never cheated on Pansy; he'd always made it to birthday parties on time; he'd provided for his family with a good job…but somehow, it never felt like it was enough. Even when he'd gotten the promotion at work and taken extra time off to appease Pansy, he'd never felt like he was doing enough. Like he could never make her happy, or make up for his heart being torn in two. Like he'd trapped this sometimes wonderful witch into marriage with a broken failure.

Never mind that she'd never said anything of the sort to him. No, Pansy had kindly put up with everything except his parents' treatment of her and then she'd put her foot down. Draco had respected that. He'd fought for it- for her. It had been a moment worth fighting for. But every other moment of their lives together, apart from their miracle of a son, had flown by under the radar. Their lives together had been average in almost every respect.

Pansy certainly had said as much every now and then- had called him on his long office hours and piles of take home work. But it was the only thing they ever argued over, once the war was over and his parents were out of the picture. _You work too hard. Why can't you get an assistant? Is your work more important than your family? _

He'd never had the heart to tell her it was. Oh, he loved his son and he loved Pansy, in his own way, but the work did mean a lot to him. The truth was, he felt guilty about who he was. He hated his part in the war. Draco Malfoy had more respect for muggles and muggleborns now than he ever had before and it drove him to grief, the way he'd treated them before…the part he had played in their torment. Perhaps, if he'd ever told his wife those things, she may have understood. But it was too late to explain now.

_Oh, I see, _the voice finally replied. _See what? _he asked bitterly.

_Why you're afraid to give Hermione the chance she deserves. It's not because you think she won't return your feelings…it's because you're afraid you won't be able to return hers. Because you still feel too guilty over your own family and who you are. Now that you're an adult and understand just how awful of a git you were in the past, you can't move beyond that realization. You think _you_ don't deserve her now, not the other way around. _

_You're not scared she won't love you…you're scared of loving her again, after all this time-._

Draco ended that train of thought quite abruptly, his hand squeezing Barclay's too hard as a result. A whimper of pain and surprise escaped the boy's pale lips and Draco lifted his head suddenly. He stared at his son for an extra second, watching for more signs of life before he cried out gladly and hit the call button.

After all, Hermione had been right: there was nothing to talk about…for now. They had their children to think of, and Draco would be damned before he would let his family come second to him ever again. He wasn't always sure what he'd been trying to make up for all these years, but he was fairly certain that loving his son and raising him to be a tolerant, compassionate person was half the battle. And that meant being there for Barclay now and always.

A nurse suddenly appeared at the window and swiftly opened the door to his son's room.

"What is it?" she asked breathlessly.

Draco grinned madly and pointed down to his son, still holding the boy's hand. "He made a noise! I accidentally held his hand too tightly and he made a noise! This is good, right?"

The nurse eyed Draco for a moment and then moved forward, smiling warily. "Right, Mr. Malfoy, right," she murmured and began to check Barclay's vital signs.

Draco stood by, realized he was still grinning idiotically, shoved his hands in his pockets, stood up, sat down again, and removed his hands from his pockets. He continued to smile. _I'm here for you, Barclay. I'm here. _

_And I'm not going anywhere, finally._

* * *

**To _mofo_: Have no fear; she just feels that way _now_, mind you. It's all part of the grieving process. Of course they both know there's unresolved feelings and flames between them, but neither wants to deal with it right now. However, I started working on some later chapters and things should come together (literally, whee!) pretty seamlessly in the future. So stay tuned! **


	32. The Sun, Also

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it is found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration._

_-D. H. Lawrence_

* * *

The night was long for Hermione and punctuated by fitful, waking dreams which shot her up into a sitting position before she realized where she was and sank back into the pillows.

She got tired of the pattern a few hours before dawn; rising, she put on her bath robe and padded out to the kitchen. The motion seemed to wake something within her and she wept quietly to herself as she put the kettle on.

It was the familiarity of it all which finally broke down her calm exterior. How many days before now had she done the exact same thing? Unable to sleep, restless from the hormones flooding her system, the stress of daily life giving her nightmares the likes of which hadn't haunted her since the war. No, holding a lonely council over the kitchen table and a hot cup of tea was nothing new.

The tears weren't so new, either, but they were different. They fell faster and harder than the others had…and this time, there was no Harry to return to; no warm body to snuggle up next to in the ridiculously large bed. The ridiculously large and _empty _bed.

She cried a little more, until her tears were spent for the time being, and then stared out the kitchen window, hands wrapped firmly around a cup of cooling tea.

She stayed there until dawn found her, hours later, still holding the cold tea cup, still watching out the window. She stayed until she didn't feel like sitting any longer. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she thought she registered the doorbell ringing, but even then it finally took a determined knocking upon the solid wood to get her up.

_Viola will wake up- I'd better get that…I guess._

As she walked down the hall she paused to look in on her sleeping child, to reassure herself that Viola was there, alive, and undisturbed. She smiled and murmured a quieting spell over the doorway. Then she closed the door a bit to block the sound some more and continued on to the front door of the apartment.

"I'm here, just a moment," she called softly through the door as she undid the locks and lifted a couple of nighttime wards. When she'd finally gotten the door unlocked, she opened it a crack and peered out. Ginny's face greeted her with a smile and Hermione opened the door wider to let her through.

"Oh, Ginny. It's so nice to see you," she mumbled and fell against her friend. Ginny accepted the tired hug and returned it with vigor.

"How are you? How was your night?" She looked her friend over concernedly. "You didn't sleep well," she said with finality.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I didn't. I kept having these…nightmares. It drove me awake around three, I think. I've been having some tea; would you like to join me?"

Ginny wrinkled her nose and looked at Hermione sternly. "You've been having nothing but tea the last four hours? Why don't I make you a fresh pot and some eggs, instead? Can your stomach handle that, do you think?"

Hermione nodded weakly. "Yeah- I haven't really been having morning sickness. I'm only a couple months along, but even when I had Viola I didn't get sick very often. Maybe some toast and jam would be better, though. And please- no more tea."

Ginny smiled. "Okay then. How about some juice?"

At Hermione's go ahead, the red head stepped into the kitchen area and immediately began raiding the refrigerator. She spoke to Hermione over her shoulder as she worked. The curly haired witch was moving back and forth between the hall and the living area and gave the occasional murmur in reply. Ginny could tell she was distracted and kept checking on her daughter.

"You know, it's been hard for me to leave my babies alone for as long as I have the last few days, myself. I don't mind if you want to just go sit with her, you know. She is sleeping awfully late for her, though, isn't she?"

Hermione smiled gratefully at her friend. "She's tired out. Aren't we all? Actually, I'm surprised at how she behaves when she's staying over at a friend's house; she never gets up that early on the weekends. Usually, Harry has to tickle her awake-" a small sob caught in her throat and she paused momentarily at the entrance to Viola's room once more.

Ginny didn't say a word, just continued to bustle about the kitchen. Better to let the woman have her space.

Hermione came back of her own accord, finally and took a seat at the bar. Ginny placed a glass of orange juice in front of her. "Drink up," she ordered cheerily, "and after Viola wakes up and has had breakfast, too, I'll help with the packing." Her expression suddenly fell and she leaned her arms on the bar as well, eyeing her friend.

"I also wanted to tell you: George owled Nev and me early this morning to say that Barclay was recovering quickly- so quick that they're going to bring him out of the coma early."

Hermione looked up. "How early?" she asked.

"Today, we think. I know you promised Viola she could be there, but I didn't know if you'd want to go back so soon…"

Hermione shrugged and took a gulp of the juice. "It was originally scheduled for tomorrow anyway- that's only an extra day of reprieve. I suppose I should wake her, then?"

"You can't let her sleep the rest of her life away, no matter how pleasant the dreams are," Ginny said gently. She paused from her task over the toaster oven and screwed her face up. "Hermione, how on earth do you use some of these muggle inventions? I'm used to the waffle iron by now, but honestly- "

Hermione laughed softly and pointed to the larger oven below the counter. "It's just a miniature version of the large one, Gin. You can spell the bread; I really don't care about the quality of the food I eat at this point."

Ginny sighed with relief and turned back to the small breakfast. "Well, I'll finish in here then; you'd better go get Viola up and dressed." She turned her head and eyed her friend as well. "Perhaps you should get ready, too. I've no doubt that since the news was released last night, there will be at least a small group of reporters clustered around your apartment building. The last thing you need is Skeeter taking a picture of you in your bathrobe, holding your daughter and being smuggled to the hospital by me. They'd have a field day with that one."

Hermione stood and nodded. "Right. I'm the sure the headline would say something like, 'Grieving Widow Finds Solace with Former Love Rival: Also, Her Hair Looks Like Shit.'"

Ginny chortled a bit and turned to pull the butter from the refrigerator. "How much jam do you want, Hermione?" she called as her friend padded back to her daughter's bedroom.

"Just a spoonful, Gin," the tired witch replied over her shoulder as she pushed open the door to Viola's bedroom. The sun was high enough in the morning sky that the room was half-lit, but still dark enough not to disturb the girl's slumber. Hermione stood in the doorway and watched her a few moments before stepping into the room and moving to Viola's bed. As she got closer, she could see her daughter's eyelids were half open. She smiled.

"How long have you been awake?" she murmured, taking a seat next to her. She smoothed Vi's curls back from her forehead and leaned over, placing a small kiss upon her head.

Viola squirmed and stretched a bit before opening her eyes a little wider. "I heard you let Aunt Ginny in," she mumbled sleepily. "Mummy," she continued, "why were you crying so much last night?"

Hermione inhaled sharply and turned away for a moment, one hand still resting protectively on her little girl's head. "Well, darling," she managed softly, "you know that even sometimes grown ups have nightmares."

"What were yours about?" the child returned. Hermione didn't miss the implication that Viola had had them too.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," she replied.

Viola nodded slowly, as if thinking very hard about something. "Well…I dreamt Daddy was in a very bright place- like the sun was shining, all the time. And he was really happy."

"That doesn't sound like a nightmare to me, Vi," her mother responded and continued to smooth her hair.

Vi's lip trembled. "But it was, because Daddy was happy without us. I didn't like it at all!" she cried suddenly and sat up, throwing herself into her mother's arms.

Hermione held her tightly and whispered soothing words. Her heart broke for her daughter- and for Harry, who had loved her with all his heart. She thanked Merlin he couldn't be there to hear the betrayal in Viola's voice. While her own dreams had been similar at times, she understood better the sad smile that was always present on Harry's face. He wasn't happy without them; he was sad, but he wasn't in pain any longer and he wanted them to go on living. How did one explain all that to a four year old?

How did one explain all that to a child who would never even see his father's face?

So, because she could not find the words to explain it to Viola just yet, she held her child close and rocked her gently in her arms. There would be time for explanations, eventually. There would be the right words, eventually. For now, she needed to get Vi up and ready to face the day.

She needed to do the same for _herself_. After a few more minutes, Hermione picked up her daughter, tears and all, and carried her to the master bath. She could hear Ginny still bustling about the kitchen and she spoke quietly to Viola as she closed the door of the suite.

"Darling, how would you like to get ready for the day with Mummy?"

* * *

Ginny called Neville as soon as she heard the door to the master suite close. She didn't bother flooing and instead flipped out a slick cell phone. The phone rang a few times on the other end before she heard it pick up.

"Hello?" came her husband's voice.

"Hi, Neville, love," Ginny murmured quietly as she continued to slather pieces of toast with butter and jam. She eyed the piece she'd just finished with and, before she could stop herself, picked it up and began munching.

"Ginny, is that you?" Neville replied uncertainly. She could hear him typing rapidly on the other end and smiled.

"It's me. I forgot to mention that I borrowed your cell-thingy this morning," she explained as she bit off another delightfully crunchy mouthful.

"What are you- oy! Stop torturing the neighbors' cat, Ronald Longbottom!" There was a slight scuffle on the other end and then she could hear the front door slamming and a whining little boy. She laughed to herself. Things were getting back to normal pretty quickly, it seemed.

Neville finally retrieved their house phone and she heard him sigh with relief. "Now, what's up? Have you pitched the idea to Hermione, yet?"

"Which one?" Ginny responded, somewhat confused. "Anyway, we've barely had a chance to talk much. She didn't sleep well. I've only a moment alone as it is- she's getting Vi ready for her visit to Barclay."

"Oh, that, well, that's better than nothing, I suppose. Listen, would you rather we both talked to her about it? I mentioned it to George in my reply owl earlier and he's just sent a note back saying he thinks it would be best if we all said something- maybe not at the same time, but you know-"

Ginny suddenly heard the door of the bedroom opening again. "Oh, sorry, Nev, she's all done. We'll finish talking later. See you for dinner!" Then she closed the cell phone abruptly, ending the call and stuffed the final bit of toast in her mouth.

Back at the Longbottoms' home, Neville stared at the receiver a moment more before hanging it up. He didn't blame Ginny for wanting to step quietly about their grieving friend. They all remembered what it had been like at the Weasley's house when Ron passed away. It was like walking on eggshells, sometimes, with a bereft person. Love and time would heal her, but the love had to be shown carefully and the time had to be limitless.

Still, he hoped that when they finally did broach the subject with Hermione that she would take well to it. After all, she was practical and intelligent. She'd understand the need for a support group. There were plenty to be had- St. Mungo's hosted the wizarding world's most highly rated one, in fact. It would be good for her to be able to let go in a group of her peers who had suffered a similar loss.

As for the other idea, well…Neville was certain that she wouldn't feel like writing her memoirs just yet. But when she did, he'd be more than happy to help transcribe them. Ronald burst into the kitchen, grinning, and hugged his dad about the legs.

"Dad, Dad, the twins just tried to eat their crayolas!"

From the colored wax evident around Ronald's mouth, the same was true of the five year old. Neville stifled a laugh and swung his son up into arms.

"And who's been giving them crayons again?" he asked sternly. Ronald flushed and rolled his eyes heavenward.

"Dur! The neighbors' cat, Dad! Why do you think I was chasing it?"

Neville decided not to gift such a statement with a response and instead raised an eyebrow as he made his way to the twins' room to see about those crayons for himself. He was better off not knowing how and why a muggle neighbors' cat would even know how to give crayolas to babies.

Not that it would be the first time that the cat had done something odd. Honestly, that big ball of orange fur was nothing but trouble. The only reason he kept Ronald away from it was because it was more likely the creature would devour his son than Ronald would do any real harm to it.

And heaven forbid he let anything happen to the boy- Ginny was quite a force to be reckoned with.

It was why he'd married her in the first place.

* * *


	33. Little Necessities

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_Whatever be the character of life or its unexpected events — to the heart that loves, all is well._

_-St. Therese of Lisieux_

* * *

To say that Draco was tired was a massive understatement. He was exhausted. Ornella found him in the morning, drooped over in the chair next to Barclay, stomach rumbling with hunger and healers bustling about him every five minutes to double check the boy's status. She immediately swatted at his head. He jumped up, startled and looked up at Ornella guiltily.

"You haven't eaten," she stated. Then, before he could protest, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and hauled him out of her grandson's room. "You're coming with me."

Once outside of Intensive Care, Ornella dropped her hand and allowed him to follow her like a normal person. They walked down the stairs to Mungo's cafeteria in companionable silence. "If I'd known you were going to break your word I would have packed something for you from the townhouse," she murmured. "As it is, you'll have to suffer through whatever it is these healers call breakfast."

Draco didn't respond, merely nodded his head. He didn't really care what he ate, so long as he was back up to Barclay's room before they woke him. He knew, logically, that eating was a good idea and that his son needed a healthy father, but food was simply not a top priority. Making sure that Barclay was healthy and happy, now…that was a different matter entirely. He listened to Ornella's soft voice continuing to speak about the house and Barclay's recovery and how she'd begun rummaging through Pansy's things.

He turned to her finally, at the door of the cafeteria. "You started packing? Ornella, you don't have to do that for me; I'm perfectly capable-"

"No, dear, you're not," she returned politely before stepping through the doors. He looked after her and smiled to himself. It seemed all the women in his life were convinced of his inability to take care of himself. The thought brought to mind a particular curly haired witch and he shut his eyes against it.

_No_, he reminded himself, _she's only a part of your life because she has to be; not because she likes it. Stop building daydreams._

Fortunately, at that moment Ornella shoved a bowl of oatmeal in front of his face. He wrinkled his nose and she smiled brightly. "Cinnamon and raisins?"

Never mind. All the women in his life were bent on making it miserable. _That means Hermione fits right in, eh? _murmured a gleeful voice in his head. _Right, _he replied stolidly. With that, he took the proffered bowl and spoon, fished some money out of his pocket and paid the waiting witch at the register.

* * *

Neville answered the phone for the second time that morning with a sigh. It wasn't that he didn't like receiving calls or talking to people. It wasn't even the interruptions to his work that bothered him. It was more that two calls in one morning, following repeat owls, all from the same family of red-heads usually signified bad news. In some ways, caller ID was a brilliant idea and in others, it scared the crap out of him.

"Hello?" he asked calmly, stilling the anxiety in his voice.

"Neville!" cried an unenthused voice. "We've got another problem."

Neville frowned and reached for a pad and pen. He hated being right, which worked to his advantage with Ginny, but as she wasn't around at that moment he had to take it all in stride. "What's up now, George?" he responded with a click of the pen.

He also hated taking things in stride.

* * *

Minister Dearborn threw her hands up in frustration. "Goblins? Mr. Smith, after- how many was it? Thirty years?"

"Thirty-six years, actually," corrected George. "And," he continued, "I really hate to remind you, Minister, but you did say I would have your full cooperation on this. It's imperative that we act now, before they have time to realize that we corrected the problem they caused and they won't have dominion over England any time soon."

Melusine sighed and then glared at him. "George, you know I trust you, but goblins? They control more than half the money in wizarding Britain. You have to step carefully with them."

Hezekiah Smith began to hack and cackle in what was an unusually mild manner. Smith watched him for a moment, concerned before his great uncle began speaking through the wheezing. "Step carefully my ass!" he gleefully hissed away. "Anyone who knows anything could tell you that it's really the ministry financial department that controls that bank!" He continued to wheeze maniacally.

The minister and her acting vice minister stared at one another. "Is that true?" they asked one another at the same time.

Smith coughed delicately. "Er, according to Hooper's calculations it's true," he murmured. They both stared at him instead. George grinned.

"Smith, you devil! You and Hooper continued working on it despite our dismissal?" When the blond nodded, George turned back to the woman behind the desk. "Hooper is, while a little skittish, one of our best young officers. He trained in accounting before coming to my department," he explained.

Smith nodded again. "He's just outside, if you'd like to talk to him." When the minister indicated that yes, she would, he stood up with his great uncle- who was still hacking- and hauled him out of the office to make room for Hooper and his scrolls of calculations. "I'm just going to get Uncle Hez something to eat," he murmured as a farewell. "We'll be in the dining hall."

"I like grits!" Uncle Hezekiah began raving as Smith closed the door. The others in the office heard his answering, "What are grits?" before the door closed completely.

Hooper looked nervously from George to the minister and back again before Melusine finally lost her patience. "Get on with it, Hooper!" she bellowed before settling back into her seat. George stared at her for a moment, shocked, before he realized that the order had gotten results and that Hooper was speaking rapidly about their latest problem.

"Well, you see, Smith and I believe, based on his uncle's information, and that of the other individual we fished out of one of the other opened rooms-"

"It was a goblin," George interjected. "A bloody _old _goblin."

"Yes, that's right," Hooper continued. "At any rate, we believe the device that was left over from the rebellion of 1692 was left deliberately to cause just such a problem in the future. You see, with wizarding London destroyed by the collapse of the wards and the rest of wizarding Britain left in disarray, without leadership, then the goblins believed they would have free rein over not only one of the most powerful wizarding communities in the world, but also all that money, which is almost in their control." George cleared his throat and Hooper looked at him before realizing that he needed to continue. "Ah, yes. And we believe that the goblins at Gringotts are fully aware of this plot."

Melusine looked at Hooper closely for a moment before nodding her head. "Alright. What do you want me to do about it? Even if they aren't technically in control of the money, they could easily shut down the bank to wizards, making it impossible for us to access either them or our funds. They've had us working on the wards and curses there for years!"

George nodded again. "That's true, but you're forgetting that my own brother is one of the curse breakers there. In addition to that, if we act quickly enough, we may be able to blindside them. I mean, they may have known about the wards and this long lost plan, but the ministry did such a good job of covering up what was going on and the goblins have been trying to integrate into normal society for long enough now that it's just possible there's a smaller amount that know what's going on than we think."

Melusine eyed George thoughtfully before standing. "And you can verify that although the Goblins work at the bank, they don't technically own it?"

"More shares are held by the Ministry than by the officials of Gringotts," Hooper replied.

"Well," she murmured as she slid into her ministerial robes, "they may not care about technicalities much, but there are bound to be a few who can recognize what they stand to lose. Now what about your brother, George? And can we get the people who've successfully broken in on board with us?"

George's face paled. "Er," he stammered. "There's only one surviving witch who ever broke into the bank successfully."

"Good. That's at least something. Get her to come in to the ministry so she can work with your brother on the worst case scenario. We'll need a back up plan if they don't listen to reason."

Hooper was the only one of the two wizards with enough courage and ignorance to speak up for once. He tugged on the minister's robe as she swept out the door. When she paused to look down at him, somewhat disgruntled, he smiled weakly.

"Minister Dearborn, the witch in question is Hermione Granger-Potter. She's gone home for an indefinite period of time. Mr. Weasley granted her the leave."

Melusine's face fell. "Ah. I see."

Both George and Hooper eyed her, nervous and concerned. Neither wanted to have to call Hermione back for something like this. The minister's face was unreadable, but they could see the way her eyes began to shine brightly and she blinked several times before taking a deep breath and answering their unspoken question: was it worth disturbing a grieving widow and single mother for the sake of this latest escapade?

Clearly, Melusine Dearborn didn't think so. "Well, just call your brother then. We'll have to manage without Ms. Potter." Then she swept from the room, head up and eyes straight ahead, looking as regal as she ever had. There was an unvoiced sentiment in her bearing. _We have all suffered enough. It is time for me to take full responsibility. _

George smiled to himself. _What a woman_.

* * *

Once Hermione had finished clearing up the breakfast dishes- Ginny had offered, but Hermione would hear none if it- she turned to her daughter and best friend. Ginny was wiping the last bit of jam from Viola's face without much success. The little girl kept wiggling around in her seat and trying to wipe it from her face with her fingers instead. Hermione stood back and smiled at the sight for a moment until she saw Viola reach her hand down as if to wipe her sticky fingers upon her clean dress. Hermione shrieked and launched herself at Viola, holding her still so Ginny could not only wipe her face, but also clean the jam covered digits. Viola wiggled some more.

"But Mummy!" she whined and Hermione laughed as she held the hands up for Ginny to inspect.

"Now, darling. Surely you want to look nice for your trip to see Barclay?"

"He won't know it's me if I'm too clean," the child muttered stubbornly, but submitted to the inspection anyhow.

Hermione laughed along with Ginny and felt some of the clouds lift from her heart. They would both survive this. They would, with each other's help.

Once Ginny had approved and disposed of the rag in the sink, Hermione had picked Vi up and slipped her feet into the grey flats she had laid out for herself. Ginny handed her friend her bag and then they opened the door of the flat and were on their way. Although she had dressed Viola in a dress, it was a subdued color and her own clothes reflected the sentiment. Hermione had never been much of one for traditional female roles, but she felt that making an exception for her husband's death was more than appropriate.

After waiting for Ginny to lock up the flat and return the keys to her, they started down the hall and were waiting at the elevator when they got their first rude awakening. As the elevator doors pinged open, a flashbulb went off, temporarily blinding them and allowing several more flashbulbs to go off before they realized what was happening.

The minute she stopped squinting, Hermione was bombarded with questions.

"How are you feeling, Ms. Potter?"

"When will the funeral be? Are you taking the ministry's offer of paying for it?"

"What will you do now? Any plans of a move?"

"What will life be like for the only child of the Boy Who Lived?"

At that moment, before either Ginny or Hermione had a chance to respond, a very messy and very green bogey landed on the camera lens in front of them. Then, after that performance, much to Hermione's horror and Ginny's amusement, Viola opened her mouth a second time and began screaming. It was one of the loudest, most piercing screams any of them had ever heard. Hermione was convinced that she even heard a flashbulb shatter.

In the distraction, the three of them managed to escape, Viola screaming over Hermione's shoulder all the way. However, they only managed to run into even more reporters on the front steps of the apartment building: these were the poor sods who hadn't managed to sneak their way into the high security complex. This time, Ginny saved them by threatening to hex them all into next year if they didn't leave her best friend and god daughter alone. Then she bundled Hermione and Viola into Neville's waiting car and slammed the door, blowing raspberries through the window at the reporters as they drove away.

Hermione's first question elicited an uncomfortable silence from the rest of the car.

"Who taught my daughter to hock a loogey?"

Neville concentrated on driving until the second question was directed at him. "Why are you here, Nev? I thought you couldn't drive us anywhere today." came from Ginny.

"Well, that's a bit more complicated," he sighed with relief. "George called me a little while ago and so I figured if I was driving into town anyhow, I might as well give you ladies a lift."

Ginny eyed him in the rearview mirror. "And who's staying with the children?"

"Your Mum," he replied evenly. "I took them to the Burrow before coming here. Now, we'll finish talking about all that later. For the time being, here's St. Mungo's." He pulled the car up alongside a curb and gestured at the dismal looking store front.

Hermione and Viola started to get out of the vehicle, but Ginny tossed an article of clothing at them. "Put that on," she advised. "We've got only a minute or two head start on the news vans and I'd rather they didn't follow you into Mungo's. It's going to be bad enough for you in there as it is."

"You're not coming?"

Ginny smiled. "Oh, I think I need to discuss something with my husband first." Neville turned his head and grinned at them both. Ginny spotted the movement and glared at him. "Don't think you're off the hook, mister," she smirked in return. Neville swiftly turned back around and tightened his grip on the wheel.

Hermione smiled and unfolded the item and realized it was Harry's old invisibility cloak. She turned to Ginny, unsure of how to thank her.

"Oh, get on with it," she grinned after giving Hermione a quick hug. "Call me when you're finished up here and I'll come back to the flat to help out with things again. Sorry we didn't get further this morning."

"That's alright, Gin," Hermione murmured. Then she looked to Viola. "Want to play a game, love? You have to be very, very quiet."

Once the girl had bobbed her head in excitement, Hermione unfurled the cloak and settled it over both their heads. Then, lifting an invisible hand to wave good bye, she got out of the car, Viola still perched on one hip.

* * *

The news vans began pulling up behind the Longbottoms' car almost as soon as she had stepped foot inside St. Mungo's. Ginny began blowing raspberries again as Neville pulled out into traffic once more, further confusing the news crews. After waiting a few minutes to make sure the vans were following them and not stopping at St. Mungo's, Ginny turned around again and leaned over the front seat. Her brown eyes sparked indignantly. _Never leave a Weasley out of anything, _Neville thought to himself as he maneuvered the car.

"You tell me what's going on right now, Neville, or so help me…" her eyes suddenly lit up mid threat and she smiled again. "Hey, did you bring any of the leftovers from last night with you?"

He eyed her, still keeping one hand carefully on the wheel. "Uh…why?"

"Because I'm hungry, that's why!" she grumbled before looking out the window again. "Oo! A patisserie! Let's stop for a minute, yeah?"

Neville decided satisfying his wife was more important than being on time to a ministry scheduled meeting. He figured George would understand, at any rate, so he stopped the car and picked up several baguettes. Then again, if George ate food the way his wife did…_better make that an even dozen, _he thought and pointed to the strawberry tarts once again.


	34. Secrets, or, Shameless Plot Twists

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_A mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers; and when it is over, anything but friends.  
-Lord Byron_

* * *

"Viola, stop fidgeting this instant!" Hermione finally exclaimed, unable to hold back any longer. She'd insisted on continuing to carry the girl, which was clearly a mistake. Hermione's intentions were good: she'd thought that if Viola became distressed by anything she saw in the hospital, it would be easier to comfort her if she were keeping her close. Unfortunately, she hadn't counted on Viola being full of energy, first from her encounter with the media; second from her first experience with the invisibility cloak- really, while it had been a good idea, Hermione was a little peeved with Ginny for snagging it from the flat. Now that Viola knew it existed, she'd never let her mum just hide it away like it ought to be. Thirdly, her daughter was so excited- and anxious- to see her schoolmate that she had energy coming out of her hair, even. She was bouncing about in her mother's arms like a Jack Russell terrier on speed, or worse, Pepper Up potion.

Viola either ignored or simply did not hear her mother's admonishment, for she continued to wriggle about in Hermione's arms, a nervous smile on her face.

Hermione finally stopped outside the doors of Intensive Care and stared her down once Vi realized they were no longer moving.

"What's wrong, Mummy?" she asked, eyes bright and full of questions.

"Are you going to behave yourself or not? I'm sure that the healers and Barclay's father won't want you causing unnecessary problems. Now, will you keep still if I set you down?" She eyed her daughter carefully, mouth pressed in a firm line. Hermione didn't particularly want to be unfair to her girl, but she was also nervous about seeing Draco again…not to mention the boy her husband had died for.

Oh, it wasn't anything as ridiculous as all that; she had no intentions of holding a grudge against the poor boy and in fact, felt rather sorry for him; and proud of her husband at the same time that he'd gone out saving the child. Still, it was a rather uncomfortable situation for all of them, except, perhaps, for the children themselves. Especially since Viola didn't yet know the details of Barclay's rescue. Hermione wondered when would be the right time to tell her, if ever. No, that wasn't alright, either. She was bound to find out sooner or later. The newspapers would be all over it; some careless Mungo's worker would mention it in passing or on purpose. Yes, it was bound to happen that in a few days, the whole of the wizarding world would know that Harry Potter died saving the son of his once worst rival.

She shivered and Viola snapped her eyes back to her mother immediately. "Mummy, are you alright?" she asked, hugging Hermione tightly about the neck. "Don't be scared, Mummy. I'm scared, too, but Barclay will be okay, right?"

Hermione pulled back and smiled at Viola. How had she been blessed with such a brilliant child? "Of course, darling. Now, let me set you down. Ready? And- oomph!" she swung Viola around to land on the floor with melodramatics and the child laughed brightly.

A voice behind them interrupted their moment. "Hermione! You came. And you've brought Viola, as promised. That's wonderful- I'm worried that Barclay will be frightened, waking up in a strange place…especially without seeing his mum there…"

Draco's voice trailed off and Hermione straightened up, keeping one hand firmly about Viola's little fingers. "Hello, Draco," she murmured in reply. She didn't meet his eyes and instead gazed behind him to his mother-in-law. "Ornella," she nodded. "I promised Vi I would bring her, didn't I?"

The older witch smiled at Hermione- not as fondly as Molly might've, but it still made Hermione feel a little better about things. Draco shifted from one foot to the other, still uncomfortable. "Yes, well," he remarked, clearing his throat. "Shall we go in?"

Hermione finally met his eyes and managed a tight smile. "Of course. Come along, Viola. Ready to see Barclay?" The little girl bobbed her head and followed her mother into the unit obediently, her hand clutching her mother's firmly. She certainly didn't want to jeopardize her chances of seeing her best friend alive and well again.

The room was too small to let them all pile in, especially as the designated healer and a few nurses needed to stand by in case anything went amiss. Hermione stood outside the window staring in, Viola in her arms once more. She watched Draco take the seat next to his son and Ornella stood quietly next to the door. She looked to the child in her arms once again. Viola was watching, wide-eyed as they slowly stopped one of the potion drips and made some adjustments to one of the machines that was beeping away next to the bed.

Hermione hugged her closer. "Are you sure you don't want to go sit with Draco?" she asked her daughter again. Viola resolutely shook her head. "Uh-huh," she muttered, nibbling on the end of a curl. "Barclay should see his Daddy first. It's only fair." She turned to look at her mother for a second. "Plus, sometimes I make him mad in school…so maybe he won't want to see me."

"Okay, darling," Hermione murmured and smiled faintly as they both turned to watch the proceedings again. _But I'm sure you're wrong…like I wish I were. I don't know what the future holds for us, but I'm certain that Barclay Malfoy is going to be in it. A lot, if that wretched father of his has anything to say about it._

* * *

Once Neville had folded himself back into the driver's seat and handed Ginny the many brown paper packages he'd purchased, he turned on the ignition and started down the street once more. The news vans, realizing that Hermione was no longer with the Longbottoms, lost interest and crowded into the patisserie he'd just left in the hopes of finding her lurking behind a newspaper or croissant. Ginny munched upon a baguette happily as Neville drove along. Her husband glanced over at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Didn't you make and eat breakfast this morning?" he asked.

Ginny glared at him. "So?"

"And then you had toast at Hermione's," he continued. His wife continued to glare and he turned his gaze back to the road. "Okay, okay. Sheesh. It's just that if I know you, you only eat like this during certain periods-"

"Be quiet and keep driving, Nev, darling," Ginny smiled at him, the glare still evident in her eyes. She tore off another piece of sandwich. "Besides. Why didn't you tell me about this business with George before?"

"Er- I didn't want to worry you?" This was clearly the wrong answer and Ginny smirked.

"Right, more like you got called in for a scoop to put pressure on someone that George doesn't like very much. Now tell me what you know."

"It's confidential ministry business, Ginny. I would tell you if I thought your brother wouldn't hex me when he found out."

"Then I'll hex him for hexing you! Now are you going to cooperate with me or do I have to use my witchy ways to get it out of you? Either I make you tell me now or George tells me later. Come on, Nev! I know it has something to do with this nasty business Hermione just spent the last three days ignoring her daughter for. Now talk, mister!"

Neville stared resolutely ahead of himself and continued to drive. He kept his mouth shut and rehearsed speeches in his head of what on earth he could say to George to explain his sister's appearance.

Then again, another Weasley would probably help the situation at Gringotts that morning, so on second thought…

"Well, Gin, it's like this: the whole thing this last year or so was the fault of a goblin rebellion some god-awful long time ago. So George needs to put pressure on at the bank to get them talking. He doesn't know exactly what we'll find, but he figures that one of them there knows exactly what's been going on all along. And I get first scoop, eh?"

Choking noises issued from the seat beside him and he looked over quickly, concerned. Ginny's face was turning purple. He pulled over again and began rubbing her back. She grimaced and managed to hock up the stray piece of baguette. Neville was quiet for the moment- he highly doubted anything else he could say would make things any better.

Instead of replying to his explanation like he expected, however, Ginny merely stared resolutely ahead of herself. Set the remainder of the sandwich upon her lap and sighed.

"Well, let's get on with it, then. Do you want your scoop or not?" she prompted, smiling at him. There was no point making any of this more difficult than it needed to be. Besides, her husband was a journalist and award winning herbologist and she really needed him to keep working right about now. Especially as she would have to take leave of her quidditch team again soon.

Neville sighed with relief and hugged her to him as she blushed and shrugged. Ginny never ceased to amaze him. She spoke once more as they pulled away.

"I suppose now would not be a good time to tell you I'm pregnant again, would it?"

* * *

Somewhere in front of him, there was a light- a bright light- racing for his face. It was shining in his eyes dimly at first, then brighter as it gained momentum. It was accompanied by the stampede of thundering feet, or drums…or was that a train upon its tracks?

Barclay wasn't certain, but he knew that he didn't like whatever it was that was about to happen. He was content to stay where he was. Here, he was safe and didn't have nightmares. There were no cold arms about him, no smoke, no pain. For some time now- well, it felt like a while, anyway- he had been drifting peacefully in a dark, warm space. He wasn't sure if he'd ever simply existed before, quite in that manner, but it was nice. It reminded him of his mother's voice, or his father's arms, where he could feel the steady beating of Daddy's heart…oh.

Perhaps that's what the sound was, rushing up behind the light. A heartbeat. But whose? Surely not his own. It was too frantic, too fast paced. It hurt to listen to it, the heart was pounding so quickly. Suddenly, the light burst upon his eyes and he felt his chest rise with the rhythm of the heart.

That was interesting. Was it his heart, after all? No…his was still beating steadily away at his ribs. It was soft and uncertain in its rhythm. This other sound was nervous, excited, overwhelmed…

And suddenly, following the heels of the light and the pulse came the other noises. Noises he'd missed while he'd been away. People speaking, crying, laughing. He felt something on the edge of his own heartbeat and it pressed itself to him- warm and peaceful and constant, just like the space he'd just been, before it had been invaded by the light and noise.

He started to curl towards the loving, steady touch , ready to cling to it and ignore the rest of the world. It wouldn't let him. Instead of harboring him as it had before, it pushed at him, forcing him from the space. Barclay cringed at the awakening and tried to grab onto the serenity the pressure offered once more, but to no effect. It continued to push back at him while remaining completely elusive. He wanted to scream at it, beg it to let him stay, but it ignored him. No, not _ignored_- it simply told him what he wanted didn't matter. Then, with one final, serene shove, the light invaded him completely. He felt the pressure ebb away, but it left no void as it disappeared. Instead, he felt warm all over and his hearing was suddenly sharper than before. The sounds were clearer- he could pick out voices he knew. And the pressure he felt now centered on his hand. His heartbeat began to draw a steady rhythm and then picked up, matching the other excited rhythms pounding their way out around him.

His eyes no longer closed, he realized he was completely awake.

Whatever dream he'd had or place he'd been, he couldn't go back. He turned his head to the side and looked his father in the eyes.

"Where's Mummy?"

Draco's grip on his son's hand tightened for one desperate moment before the healer took over. It was all the answer Barclay needed.

He didn't cry; only nodded as if he knew the answer all along. Then he gazed past the healer as the examination and adjustments began to the window of his room.

There, nose and one hand pressed firmly to the glass; green eyes asking questions he couldn't answer; black curls fuzzing up about her pale cheeks; was the owner of the heart that now beat in time with his. Their eyes met and he smiled once before his own blue orbs rolled back into his head and the healers rushed to start him on potions once again.

* * *

An hour later, Draco and Hermione were sitting across from one another in the waiting room; Viola was with Ornella watching Barclay. The boy had been awake long enough for the healers to ascertain that there was nothing too wrong with him- that they could see, anyhow. Draco still wasn't sure what had happened. One second, Barclay had been awake and speaking- responding to stimuli, the healer had said- and the next second he was out cold again. For some reason his heart had begun beating at an accelerated rate and that had been too quick for his still recovering body, apparently. They'd put him back on a couple of potions that were supposed to help the situation and almost immediately after closing his eyes, his heart had dropped back down to the previously comatose state.

Draco was a wreck, obviously. "Does this mean that he's not well? Does it mean he'll never be well? How much longer will they have to keep him under like this? I feel- I feel like he's losing his life all over again!"

Hermione patted his hand, feeling rather impotent herself, and pushed another cup of coffee towards him. "The healers are doing everything they can for him. You just need to be a little more patient and have some faith-"

"And then there's this whole thing- I mean, does Viola even realize Harry saved Barclay?" Draco ran right over her words and continued talking, as if he didn't hear her. "How is it going to affect him when he finds out, too? I don't know what I'm supposed to tell my son- thank Merlin the papers haven't gotten a hold of that information, yet."

Hermione sat back from him, stunned and somewhat disgusted. She wanted to spit at him: _Pansy died saving him as much as Harry did, you narcissistic little man. Maybe if you'd spent a little more time loving the people you're supposed to then you'd have more answers now!_

She didn't say any of those things, however. No, Hermione had always been the bigger person, hadn't she? _Well, there was that one time you ignored him for days based on Harry's word…and the time you threatened to kill him for not controlling his girlfriend's actions. In fact, you've been rather narcissistic yourself, haven't you?_

She huffed angrily at herself and grabbed the proffered cup of coffee from under Draco's nose. "Sorry," she grumbled, "I think I need this more than you do."

She was about to take a sip when one of her companion's pale hands shot forward and snatched the scalding liquid from her grasp. "You can't! What about the baby?"

Hermione stared into his grey eyes, shocked. Draco Malfoy was right. Here she'd sat, thinking that he was only thinking of himself, completely misreading the situation and getting so wrapped up in old and bitter recriminations that she'd forgotten- _forgotten, _dear gods- about the things that were most important to her. She was even more shocked, if it was possible, to finally realize that he really was constantly thinking of her. The reality of what that meant came crashing down once more.

"How could you?" she suddenly hissed and grabbed her purse, hauling it over her shoulder and standing.

"What?" he asked, looking up at her dazedly. He obviously had no idea why she was so upset. That made it ten times worse. Not only was he thinking of her- of what was best for her and her family- but he was doing it unconsciously. She had become such a part of his life all those years ago that he didn't have to work to remember her, or to know he still cared for her.

She was _definitely _not ready for that level of commitment; not with him. _Merlin, not with him. Please. _

It would be like betraying Harry. She had chosen Harry, had chosen the cause he stood for, over Draco so long ago. It had always been Harry. How could it be anyone else? How could she start a new life, even think about a new life, with the one person who had embodied everything Harry had worked against? Everything she had worked against?

_But he's different now. He's changed, _the voice in her head reminded her. She stifled it with a vicious growl and then stalked past Draco and out into the hall.

"Hermione?" he called after her and then stood to follow. He caught up to her just outside. "Hermione, what's wrong? Do you need a healer? You're not leaving now, are you?"

She spun around to face him. "Yes, Draco, I am leaving. I can't take this anymore. I'm taking Viola to her grandparent's house outside of London where she can pretend to be a normal little girl for a while and send Barclay postcards from the zoo while I make day trips into town to go through my flat. I don't plan on seeing you for a while. Is that okay or do I need Ornella's permission as well?"

He stared at her. "What's wrong? Did I say something again? I'm sorry, I'm just so mental over this ordeal with Barclay, I don't know what to do!"

"I don't know what to do either, Draco," she said a little more softly this time.

"Is this about the whole pregnancy thing yesterday? Because if it is, I can't tell you how sorry I am. I would never deliberately hurt you anymore, Hermione."

"I know. And it isn't that…I just need space right now. Don't worry so much about your son, Draco. He'll be fine. Harry didn't die for nothing." She tried to smile at him, but could feel the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes already. "Could you please go in there and tell Vi she has to leave?"

It was Draco's turn to frown. As much as he wanted to yell and ask her what she thinking; refuse to play the bad guy to her daughter; he couldn't say no. He knew that as much as he was hurting right now, Hermione was right. Barclay would be fine, eventually. He would get his son back. He just wanted desperately to know if he would ever get Hermione back, too…not that he'd had her in the first place. He let out a defeated sigh and shrugged.

"Alright. I just need to know one thing, first. If Barclay recovers fully, may he contact Viola? Pansy- well, she was his whole world. I know he cares for me and Ornella and doesn't mind spending time with us…but it would be really good for him to know that he still has friends."

Hermione's eyes softened and the angry tears subsided. "Of course," she choked out. "Draco, I-"

She stopped in mid sentence and watched as he shook his head and then walked inside his son's room to speak with Viola. _I'm sorry, _she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come out quite right. It was probably for the best. The confusion and hurt she was feeling wouldn't go away for a long time. Instead of pursuing that line of thinking any further, she asked to borrow Draco's phone once he'd joined her in the hall again.

He handed it over quietly and nodded towards the door. "She'll be out in a moment. I told her Barclay needed rest and that he would see her again soon. Hope you don't mind."

Hermione shook her head and dialed Neville's number. "Ginny, it's me. Can you pick me up now? I mean, I suppose I could apparate now, but honestly I'm not feeling up to it."

Draco tried hard not to listen in on her conversation, but failed miserably. He couldn't help it. Was she really going to shut herself off from everyone who knew and loved her? Oh, he knew she'd be with her parents, but what did that matter when she had people who wanted and needed her around them right now?

_Stop it, _he told himself. _She needs to get away and figure out where she's going next. You had this conversation with yourself already, right? Just give it a rest. You have your son to worry about. Stop being such a sod. _Let her go for once, was what he was trying to convince himself of. It wasn't working very well, but at least now he was sure he could manage. He didn't like it, but he could manage. She couldn't keep Viola away from long, anyhow- she was a little spitfire, just like her mum. He smiled as she slowly exited Barclay's room.

"Thank you for letting me see him, Mr. Malfoy," she muttered, head hanging. Draco frowned and knelt to her level, looking once over his shoulder to make sure Hermione was still occupied.

"Look, Viola. I know you don't want to leave your friend right now. I really appreciate your caring for Barclay so much. I know he does, too. But your mum needs you very badly right now, too. More than Barclay does. Besides, he'll be all better the next time you see him and you'll be able to talk to him properly and everything."

She wrinkled her nose at the word _talk_. "Won't he be able to play, too?" she asked, disappointed. Draco stifled a laugh behind his hand and then drew her into a hug.

"He will. But right now he needs more rest. We know he'll be alright though, don't we? And he got to see you before he had to go back to sleep, so he knows you were here and care about him. Right?"

He pulled away and watched her face brighten. "That's right!" she smiled, her dark curls bouncing as she grew excited. "I'll call him everyday that I'm gone, okay? And send him the pictures I colored!"

Draco found her enthusiasm hard to ignore and smiled in return. "Okay. Now you'd better join your mum, eh?" Then he stood up and took her hand to lead her over to Hermione.

The girl's mother had just hung up and was turning around to the hand the phone back. He took reluctantly. "Everything alright?" he asked nervously.

Hermione sighed. "Something is going on at the ministry, I can tell. Ginny is trying to talk her way around it, but she was always terrible at keeping secrets. I don't know if she can pick me up after all."

Draco held the phone out again. "Why don't you just call your parents? Go ahead, I don't mind. I'd offer to take you myself-"

"Oh, no," she cut him off quickly. "You need to stay here." She took the phone once again and smiled weakly at him. "Thank you, Draco."

He smiled back, but could feel that old, familiar closing up of his throat and quickly turned away. "It's not a problem." He turned and patted Viola's head once more. "I'll see you again soon, angel," he murmured before walking back into Barclay's room.

Hermione stared after him. Why had he just turned his back on her like that? Was he mad at her? What had she done? She'd been here when he asked her to, hadn't she? What more could he ask of her? Didn't he know she couldn't handle him being so dismissive; not now, at least! The confusion was stronger than ever- and it wasn't made better by her daughter's accusing eyes. What the hell was going on with her? Hormones? It must be. For the first time since Harry's death, she was neither sad nor angry with him. She felt…resentful, as a matter of fact.

_Oh, Merlin. That is quite enough of that, Hermione. You've got plans, now stick to them. Once you've had a little time to recover you can examine your presumed feelings for that prat. _She snorted as she began dialing her parents' number. _As if you have time to recover. No sooner did your husband die than you found out you were pregnant. Talk about zero turn around time. This must be what they mean by, _"Life going on without you." She took Viola's hand and smiled gently at her beloved child just as her mother picked up the other line. Viola's expression softened and she suddenly drew close to her mother, throwing her arms about her legs, as if she never intended to let go. Hermione exhaled, smiling and listened for one of her parents.

"Hello?" came a soft voice.

"Mum?" Hermione murmured. "It's me. Mum, I need to come home for a bit. I'm bringing Viola with me. I have a few things to tell you and Dad."

* * *

**AN: Sorry this update took so long...the past few weeks since I've been back have been very hectic- emotionally and physically. I'll try to keep up better from now on, but it will still be off and on. I'm in my last year of graduate school, planning a wedding, studying for comprehensives, taking an overload, planning two recitals and preparing a role for an opera on top of auditions for young artist programs. To name a few. Thanks for your patience. I really do like writing and want to finish all my projects; it's just going to take some time.**


	35. Reassurances

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_There is more hunger for love and appreciation in this world than for bread._

_- Mother Teresa_

* * *

Draco stared after Hermione and Viola as they left the ward, hands in his pockets, feeling rather useless. Ornella came out to stand beside him and looked towards the swinging doors.

"How long has this been going on, Draco?" she asked. The unspoken question was, of course, _Were you having an affair?_

Draco looked down at her, startled. "What? I- no! No! There was never anything like that, Ornella. I just…I just knew her in school. She's an old flame- look, do we really need to talk about this right now? Pansy's not even in the ground yet, for Merlin's sake!"

Ornella turned to her son in law and stared at him hard. "As if I want you to move on that quickly! And I had to ask, Draco! He's my grandson- the closest living relative I have left. Of course I'm concerned about your future! You'll remarry someday, Draco. I have no doubt of that and I don't want to stand in your way…but the way you look at her! It's indecent," she hissed.

Draco flushed angrily. "Merlin, Ornella. What's wrong? Is it because she's muggle born? Is that where this is coming from? I've cared for Hermione a long time- Pansy knew that when she married me. Even so, I never neglected my husbandly duties!"

"That's not it!" Ornella put her hands over her face and shook her head. "Oh, Draco, I'm sorry. It's just losing Pansy that way…and now Barclay. I can't lose you, too. Not so quickly. Once you remarry, Barclay will have a new mother and you'll have two people to give attention to…eventually you'll stop coming over for Saturday dinners-"

Draco felt his mouth drop open and quickly pulled Ornella into a fierce hug. "Ornella, Ornella…is that what this is about? You're worried that we'll leave you behind? That we'll forget our ties to you and Pansy?" The older woman began crying into his shirt and he felt her nod against him, sniffling. He sighed and held her tightly. "That won't happen. I may remarry- but I don't know yet if it will be Hermione. No one can know that. For now, we're friends, no matter how I feel about her.

"Ornella, Barclay will always be your grandson. Pansy hasn't stopped being his mother. Just because she isn't here right now doesn't mean we'll cease to care about her. She's his mother. Death doesn't end that. And it doesn't mean we won't see you at Christmas and Halloween…Easter. You are a part of _both _our lives, Ornella. For as long as you want to be. Nothing can change that, I promise."

He rested his cheek against the top of her head and stood still, holding her to him as she wept quietly, nodding at his words.

"I know…I know it's hard, Ornella. But we're not doing it alone, are we? We all have each other. We always will have," he whispered.

Back in his room, Barclay's eyelashes fluttered softly against his pale cheeks.

* * *

Hermione was on her way down the hall, still holding firmly to Viola's hand when she heard a glad shout. She looked up to see Fred coming their way and smiled in surprise.

"Fred! What are you doing here?" Hermione hadn't been expecting anyone- her parents had only one car and her dad was at work, so she'd offered to take a bus out to their suburb. Her mother had promised to meet her at the station. "Just call when you know what time you'll be, love. Shall I make Viola's favorite for dinner?"

Hermione hadn't had the nerve to spill the beans over the phone, so her mother's voice had sounded tight and worried; as if she knew something was wrong at home but was assuming the _other _worst. Hermione had needed to stifle a laugh at the realization of what her mum must be thinking. As if Harry would ever have _cheated _on her or hurt her in any way. It was too much, really. So, after promising her mum that she'd call, she'd hung up and left a bereft and hopeless Malfoy behind her.

Honestly, what was wrong with him? He couldn't possibly expect her to proclaim her undying affection for him so soon after all of this, well…this _mess_. But the way he looked at her and Viola didn't offer friendship alone. There was an unspoken promise in his face every time he looked her way and she couldn't deal with it right then.

So when she saw it was Fred and he was suddenly asking where she was off to and could he drive her anywhere, well, she practically tossed herself in his friendly, brotherly arms. After giving her and Viola tight hugs, he pulled back.

"So where to first?"

"Er- Viola's school, I think. She and I need to speak with the office about her taking a vacation for a while. Just a couple of weeks- nothing too serious. That way you can take your work with you," she informed the girl at her side.

Viola frowned and wrinkled her nose. "School work? Mummy!"

Hermione and Fred laughed before the wizard knelt in front of her. "Come on, now, Vi. Surely you want to be as smart as your Uncle George someday?"

"I'm already as smart as my mummy!" she pouted. "Daddy always says so," she declared proudly, before her face crumpled again. Hermione squeezed her hand tightly and gave it a tug.

"Hey, now. He does always say that, doesn't he? Then don't you want to make him extra proud? Besides, I'm sure Barclay will need help catching up on his work once he gets better," she smiled slyly, tapping Viola on her nose. The little girl smiled brightly once more.

"Okay! Will you help me with the work, Mummy?"

"Of course…once you try it on your own."

Fred shook his head, smiling softly to himself as he followed the two of them out of St. Mungo's and onto the street. He opened the car doors and slid inside, waiting to start the engine until everyone was safely fastened in. Hermione slipped in next to him and smiled at Viola over her shoulder before nodding to him.

"All set, then?" he asked as he started the car and pulled from the curb. Hermione eyed him and took a glance around the vehicle.

"Fred…" she began, "isn't this George's ministry car?"

"Er," Fred replied. "Well, he didn't seem to need it today, did he?"

Hermione shook her head and looked out the window as Viola giggled.

* * *

In Diagon Alley, George was standing on the steps of Gringotts with Bill, waiting for Neville to show up. The minister was already inside the bank; she was speaking with the head of the goblins' organization in rather serious tones.

They watched as a car they recognized pulled up to a curb farther down the alley. Soon after it stopped, Neville unfolded his long body from the driver's seat. Instead of heading towards them immediately, however, he walked around to the passenger side and soon another familiar body was getting out. George swore under his breath and Bill cracked a grin.

The eldest son of the Weasley family echoed Neville's thoughts from earlier. "Oh, please. Surely another Weasley on the scene isn't a bad thing?"

"Yes, but we don't want them feeling too threatened!"

Bill raised an eyebrow as their brother-in-law and sister approached. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it? Besides, turn about is fair play. Don't get me wrong; I'm as much for the rights of magical creatures as dear Hermione, but they certainly bungled this time. Very badly, indeed. Not that I want to lose my job, particularly. I do have a family of my own to feed."

George rolled his eyes and put out a hand to shake Neville's, ignoring his older brother. "Nev! Glad you could make it. So does my darling baby sister know the whole story or what?"

Neville would've blushed if he wasn't still in shock from Ginny's earlier revelation. In fact, he was so stunned that the next words out of his mouth were, "We're having another baby."

George eyed first Neville, then Ginny. Then he turned to Bill and grinned.

"Well, let's get in there and get you your scoop. The minister has pretty much ironed things out with the head of the bank, but we may have a little trouble bringing some of their workers into custody. We've got half our Aurors in there right now. So be careful and stay back, Ginny. This whole thing is a mess, but we're getting it under control."

Neville nodded, still dazed, but pulled out a pad of paper and a ballpoint pen anyway. George nodded in approval and then the three of them followed Bill back into the bank.

* * *

Hermione shook the hand of the principal once more and then left the office. Fred was waiting with Viola just outside the door.

"I'll go get the car," he immediately said, standing up. Viola looked up at her mother and held her arms out to be picked up.

Hermione smiled and scooped the little girl up before shaking her head. "No, it's alright. We'll walk with you."

"So, how did things go?"

"Well. They'll be forwarding all her extra work on to my parent's house and I have the last week's in my bag." She hefted Viola a little higher. "They still have another couple of weeks until their term break, but she's willing to give us that much time. And if Vi wants to go back sooner, that's okay, too. I just think it's important that we spend some time together right now, as much as we can. Right, darling?" she turned her head, kissing her daughter on her forehead.

Viola smiled and nodded, hugging her mother tightly about the neck. Fred smiled at them and turned to look out at the street.

"I'm just down there. Where else do you need to go? Have you already spoken to the hospital about, well. Er." Fred stopped talking and looked at Hermione awkwardly, his cheeks pale.

Hermione sighed and followed him down the sidewalk to the vehicle. "I have. But since the ministry wants to make a big deal of it, he's- his body-" she paused a moment and shook her head. "They aren't releasing it to me. That's alright with me; Harry and I talked about wills and everything when we were married…but there wasn't anyplace particular we wanted to use for, well, that sort of thing. I do wish the ministry would keep it small, though. Perhaps a large memorial, instead. That would be nice, I think. He would have liked that."

Fred moved forward to open the car door and Viola was settled in. Hermione decided to slide in next to her daughter. He smiled. "So, where may I drive you next?" he grinned at them from the rearview mirror once he was behind the wheel.

Viola giggled and Hermione smiled back at him. "How much time do you have? I ought to stop at my flat before we catch the train out to Mum and Dad's. I haven't packed yet."

He winked and pretended to tip a hat at them. "For you two lovely ladies, all day. And before you ask again whether George needs the car, I should let you know that he actually called me earlier and told me to keep an eye out for you once he'd spoken to Ginny. So stop worrying. I'm at your service, as is the ministry's petrol fund. Let me drive you to your parents."

"I thought this one ran on magic like the others," Hermione said, frowning a bit.

"It does, half of the time. It's hybrid, didn't you know?" he grinned again. Then, with a small jerk, he pulled the car away from the curb and shot down the street with his usual flair.

* * *

Ginny sat glumly in the lobby of Gringotts, keeping one glaring eye on the goblins behind the counter and the other on the patrons who insisted on standing huddled by the door, gossiping. She was just debating on which hexes to use on both parties when Neville came out from behind the row of counters and walked towards her.

"How are you holding up, love?" he asked and took a seat next to her. She continued to glare at her soon to be victims and frowned.

"I'm fine, Neville. Hungry and tired and cranky because Fred hasn't called about Hermione yet, but I'm fine. How did things go? I assume they finally kicked you out because they're trying to come to an agreement."

"They already have, actually. George and Bill need to stay here to monitor the merger- which is probably going to take a few days- and they've got a patrol of aurors on duty still, but things are under control. The ministry is going to step in and start helping with the goblins' responsibilities until they can convince the FAH and NOM to step in. This is going to be front page headlines, Ginny. Nothing like this has happened in centuries. Certainly not since the founding of Gringotts."

"What do you mean? What has the Free Alliance of House-elves and New Order of Magical-creatures to do with anything? Why does the ministry need them?"

"Well, even though there were a few goblins still working here that could remember as far back as that rebellion and basically expected all hell to break loose, they're still some of the most trustworthy creatures when it comes to money and possessions. So, the minister decided to cut them some slack and she's only insisted that they now have business partners to help keep the untrustworthy ones honest. They're insisting that they'll be as honest and reliable as ever, but, well…we saw how that went. But she did compromise and said that she would try to make sure their partners became some other magical creatures, non-humans, to be exact. Our best bets right now are free elves, but it may be useful to hire some others for security purposes within the bank to keep the members on track."

Ginny stopped glaring long enough to give the increasingly frightened patrons time to escape and smiled. "Neville, that sounds like a brilliant plan! Oh, Hermione will be thrilled for the house elves. Can you imagine? We should get home and call her right away. Maybe Fred can swing by the house on his way to wherever she's off to."

Neville smiled in return and shook his head. "Alright, but only Hermione and only if she swears not to tell. This is my scoop, you know."

Ginny nodded, but immediately swung about to watch the patrons who were scurrying from the bank. Neville laughed and stood up, offering her his hand. "Don't worry about that, Gin. I cast a silencing spell on us before I sat down. The scoop is safe for now. Come on, I'll drive."

His wife nodded and stood up as well, taking his hand and following him from the building. "Can we stop at that patisserie again?"

"Ginny, we're going home. You can eat there," Neville replied, rolling his eyes.

"But I'm hungry again! You made me wait so long my food is all digested ," she replied, whining.

Neville resolutely shut up and continued to walk towards his vehicle, ignoring the pleading tones of his darling, insatiable wife. He wondered, not for the first time, what life would have been like had Hermione agreed to go to the Yule Ball with him fourth year. Then he remembered the large blue eyes and freckled cheeks of his son and forgot to wonder any longer. He tightened his grip on Ginny's hand and smiled back at her.

She stopped pleading mid sentence, long enough to smile back brilliantly, squeezed his hand in return, and then continued to beg as if she'd never see another sandwich shop in her life.

Neville laughed aloud and opened the car door before giving her a solid kiss on the mouth and ushering her inside the vehicle. It was going to be a long, but happy winter, he thought.

* * *

**AN: Yeah, sorry for the long wait. It'll be another long wait before 36, too. Same old. I am super busy and stressed, but I have not forgotten you all or my story- although the plot may be disintegrating. :) Thanks for your patience. Happy thoughts and good energy are appreciated. **


	36. Making Time

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_How on earth are you ever going to explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as…love?_

_**-**Albert Einstein_

* * *

Fred pulled up in front of the Granger's home with a reluctant smile on his face. He understood Hermione's need to go home after the tragedy; to escape the city and the streets where she had lived and loved Harry for so long, but he still wished she would let the Weasleys love her back into existence.

Taking her home to Molly would have felt less like helping her run away…whether it was from Harry's ghost _or_ Draco Malfoy. Still, it was her decision and he needed to get back to his brother and find out what was going on. Run the shop, help with arrangements and generally make Hermione's transition as painless as possible- in as much as it _could _be painless. The little things, like speaking on her behalf when the ministry tried to get too ridiculous with plans and making sure her apartment was in order…those were the things he could help with. He knew his mum would help, too…and he could always take some time off from the shop.

He looked at her as she gathered her things from the back seat and lifted a now sleeping Viola into her arms. Fred swiftly exited the vehicle and opened her door so she could leave without jostling the girl too much; afterward he took the small bags she had left her flat with and placed them on the sidewalk.

"Let me just get the door for you-" he began, and she thanked him wearily, watching as he shut up the car and took her bags to the front door. He turned to her again. "Can I do anything else? Mum and I will help with your flat and other arrangements, as you need it…Gin won't be able to take too much time off anymore, but the shop manages itself…please, call us- any of us- if you need anything. _Anything_."

Then he gave them both a hug and stood back as Hermione rang the doorbell. The smile that rested upon her wan face from earlier no longer reached her eyes and her hair lay limp and frizzy about her shoulders. He was about to say as much, but realized that it was probably not only unnecessary, but also unwelcome. Instead, he turned to greet the woman who opened the door. In a move that would have astonished Hermione any other week in their history together, he pulled out a small business card and handed it to her.

"Mrs. Granger," he murmured. "Please don't hesitate to call me or my family anytime." He turned to go and the woman looked up from the card, stopping him.

"Thank you…would you like to come in?"

Hermione found her voice then. "Mum," she whispered, eyes full of tears. "I have something awful to tell you."

The woman glanced from her daughter and grandchild to Fred and back, before settling on Hermione. "Another time, perhaps," she called to Fred before leaning down to pick up the bags and usher her child into the house.

Fred watched to make sure they were in safe before he slid behind the wheel for what he hoped was the final time that day.

* * *

Weeks passed.

* * *

Hermione didn't spend the days exactly as she had planned. The first week she lay in bed for whole days, staring at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom- now painted a neutral tone. Her mother had been using it as a guest room for years now; she and Harry had even stayed there once or twice earlier in their marriage. Her cheeks were miraculously dry, but she knew that if she got up she would start crying again. It was almost harder to keep it together now that she was being taken care of then it had been back in the city. But she was glad it was her mother holding her and not Malfoy. She couldn't bear to bury Harry so quickly.

The funeral was scheduled for the weekend after that first week, though. She knew only because her mother had come upstairs to tell her. In a way, the rest was preparation. She had to get herself to as vegetative a state as possible before attending the funeral. Otherwise she wouldn't make it through. She was certain of that much.

Viola didn't spend much time with her mum that first week, either, but she didn't seem to mind too much. As long as she could run into the room and show her paintings and drawings to her mummy and give and receive kisses and hugs she was content to simply be in the same space as her mum once again. It was nice to have her mummy all to herself for once, she thought. Even though she would have far preferred to have her daddy there as well, she was satisfied for the moment. After all, although she was smart for her age, she was still only four and it wasn't that unusual to have her daddy gone for days at a time, with only mummy or Aunt Ginny for company.

Hermione wasn't accomplishing much lying in bed, but she was beginning to feel better about Viola's recovery. The girl was young and while it was hard at any age to lose a parent, she would heal and grow. Possibly more quickly than her mother would.

Mrs. Weasley had been in touch with her mother about the arrangements for burial and the memorial service. George had pulled several strings and the funeral was going to be a closed affair, open only to Harry's close friends, family and coworkers. Unfortunately that meant half the ministry would be attending, but it was better than the massive crowds which would have shown up if left open to the public. Hermione didn't want them all there, staring at her and her child…asking questions, shaking their heads, making assumptions… She didn't want their pity. And Viola would know, with or without them, that her father was a hero.

Fortunately for Hermione and Viola, Harry had written a will. Hermione already knew it left nearly everything to her, with a sizable trust in place for Viola and smaller ones for the older Weasley nieces and nephews. It also detailed where he was to be buried…another reason for a closed service. The memorial service, however, would take place before the funeral upon the grounds of Hogwarts, complete with a viewing and the unveiling of a monument to him. Then Harry's remains and the guests at the actual service would be transported by port key to the site of his burial. No massive funeral processions allowed. The procession and grandeur and tragedy everyone else was thirsting after would be supplied at the memorial service. Everything else was quiet and very, very personal.

It was the one thing Hermione voiced an opinion on that first week at home. The rest of the time she wasn't staring at the ceiling, she was smiling and hugging her daughter. She didn't even protest when her mother helped her dress for the services.

Elizabeth Granger didn't mind Hermione's behavior. She was glad she could help her only child at such a difficult moment in her life. She was glad they could share the grief. Hermione's father, Paul Granger, chose not to express an opinion. Although the way Hermione lay so very still in her bed concerned him, she seemed responsive enough to questioning and her daughter, so he chose to stay out of it, only offering his support and condolences.

Elizabeth and Paul had liked Harry. Although they had expressed some concern over Hermione's choice at first, knowing all the troubles the pair had faced as friends, they had grown to care for him. He was a good hearted man with a fierce temper. Paul had enjoyed hearty debates with him, but they had never had a bone to pick with one another, until now. Now, while Elizabeth comforted Hermione and strove to help her survive each day, Paul wished- only a little bit- that he could put the boy in a grave himself for leaving his daughter so soon. Six years? What was that, compared to the lifetime of hope and love he and his wife had known? It was nothing. And to leave not only his grieving widow, but a constant reminder of himself in the shape of a child…well. It didn't really matter. The man was dead and nothing would bring him back and his little girl was going to hurt for a very long time.

Hopefully not too long, though, if what Elizabeth had relayed to him was true. She thought Hermione was pregnant again. Such a touchy subject, that. It could swing either way for her recovery.

Either she would learn to get on with things for the sake of her children and Harry's memory; or she would collapse in the face of such great stress and change. Personally, Paul though his daughter was far more likely to favor the former solution. When he said as much to his wife, she only smiled sadly and nodded. Whether it brought hope or not, it was still a very difficult position to be in. After all, she would have to go back to work eventually, wouldn't she? And then in another six months at the latest she would be on leave once again, this time for the pregnancy…no, it was not an enviable situation. And did they even know if Harry had left enough for them to be taken care of without any trouble? No, they didn't, especially as the will hadn't been read yet.

Paul stayed fully out of things after that conversation, interfering _only_ when Hermione sought him out for company. Even then, Elizabeth would watch him like a hawk from the kitchen doorway to make sure he wasn't saying anything deemed _upsetting_. After that, he took his granddaughter to the zoo and the park quite a bit.

Luckily for him, his willingness to stay right out of things spared him some of the hardest conversations of all.

* * *

Ginny came for a visit late in the week, determined to convince Hermione to behave herself once she saw the guest list for the funeral itself.

"Malfoy?" Hermione's eyes were big and watery as she looked up at Ginny from the scroll in her hands. Ginny anticipated the yelling to follow, but for once she was pleasantly surprised. "Well," Hermione continued, "he and Harry did work together closely from time to time." She glanced up at Ginny again, sniffling in an alarming manner.

"Did you know that Harry helped him get his job at the ministry? And saved him and P- Pansy?" She swallowed painfully and looked down at the list once more. "Yes, this is fine. Now, tell me how you are."

Ginny eyed her friend uncertainly before nodding and putting the list back into her bag. "I'm doing well- as much as any of us are. Our Quidditch field was damaged in the last apparation, but they've been repairing things pretty quickly since last week. Neville is good. He's having trouble concentrating on his work because of the neighbors' beast of a cat, which apparently enjoys tormenting the twins. And I'm…expecting again."

At that, Hermione perked up considerably. "Are you really? Ginny! I thought you said the twins-"

"Well, I said the same thing about their little sister, too, didn't I?"

Hermione's eyes suddenly watered again and Ginny frowned. "Hermione, you can't still be upset about your…news, can you? Isn't it a blessing?"

"I'm tired of people saying those things." she replied matter-of-factly. Then she looked up at her friend, chagrined. "Yes, it is, Ginny. I don't mean to sound awful. And of course, everyone and their uncles will be helping me. But that doesn't make it any easier. It won't bring Harry back or help me feel whole again. In fact, once the child is born I imagine I'll feel quite the opposite." She smiled at Ginny and shook her head. "Don't worry, Gin. I'm fine. I'll be fine, eventually. I just need this time to…exist for a while. And no, I haven't been ignoring what I need to do, I've been doing nothing but thinking about the future and Harry and Viola and this little one." She placed a hand over her abdomen momentarily and looked back to Ginny.

Ginny smiled in return and reached her hands out, taking Hermione's and squeezing them tightly. "We'll get through it together, love. I know it's hard for you. It's hard for all of us. Harry meant so much to so many people. But you're handling things- oh, far better than I could, I think. Although," she paused, eyes sparkling, "I do believe you've gotten rather emotional in your old age."

The tears came spilling over onto Hermione's cheeks then, but her mouth was in a wide smile and she leaned forward, embracing her best friend. "Ginny Weasley, if you weren't pregnant I'd have to toss you one!"

The two witches continued to chatter both aimlessly and with purpose until Viola ran into the room and insisted they inspect her latest creation. Elizabeth Granger listened outside the room, smiling softly at their conversation. So. Things would turn out alright, eventually. It was good to know Hermione was staying positive. That was something, at least.

* * *

In the meantime, across the city at St. Mungo's, Draco was also learning to stay positive. In that first week he, too, was existing. He spent his nights at the townhouse and his days almost entirely at the hospital, although Ornella and George had insisted he get back to work at the ministry at least a few hours a day. For now, two seemed to be about enough to maintain job security and Draco took full advantage of the fact. He couldn't leave Barclay for too long right now, anyway. The boy had developed a separation anxiety rivaling that of his own when he was a boy; and since his son was staying awake for longer and longer periods everyday, Draco had barely any time to himself. Even Ornella could see that it was going to be a problem in another week or so, unless she moved in- which Draco knew she would gladly do. She'd even offered to home school the boy for a while, if it would help. Draco had almost taken her up on it, but decided to hold off on a decision for a while longer. After all, even the healers didn't know everything about the situation yet, so there might be a solution that didn't involve moving the cottage and home schooling- they just weren't sure yet.

But oh, how Draco wished things could be tied up neatly into a bow. He wasn't even sure if Barclay would be healthy enough to go to the funeral at the weekend…if he even wanted his son there. He still hadn't explained to him yet about what had happened to the auror who had saved his life.

How did one say everything that needed to be said without frightening the boy further? What was particularly disturbing was that Barclay spoke of Harry constantly- not that he knew it was Harry- as if he was still alive and sometimes, even as though he was with him at that very instant.

The healers had no explanation for that yet, either. Still, Draco ultimately felt that it would be disrespectful to the man who had died to save his son's life if Barclay didn't attend the funeral. So, a few days after arriving at his decision, he was in Diagon Alley to shop for appropriate mourning robes for a young boy. He stopped at Madam Malkin's first and was immediately assaulted by a young witch who was clearly the hired help.

"How may I help you?" she simpered up at him, here eyes lined with a heavy black and her hair clearly struggling to appear fashionable. He smiled weakly at her and looked about.

"I'd really rather speak to Madam Malkin," he replied. "It's a delicate matter, you see."

The witch's eyes grew even larger, if possible, and she nodded profusely in an attempt to be sympathetic. He sighed as she patted his arm. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I'll go get her right away." Then, casting many a doe-eyed glances over her shoulder at him, she hurried off to the back of the store.

He frowned. So, it appeared that news of all the deaths had traveled quickly and he was once again one of the most eligible bachelors- well, widower, he supposed.

_How unseemly_, he thought. _Doesn't the fact that I nearly bore the Dark Mark mean anything anymore? It used to buy me some privacy._ He rolled his eyes and snorted. Imagine that. He'd certainly never dreamed there'd be a day when he'd long for the shunning that such a past had previously brought him. _Oh well. At least the ministry won't treat me any different. Except that they'll probably pay a bit more attention to what I have to say now. That will be nice. _

With a start, Draco realized that not only had his status in the wizarding world of available singles had changed, but so had Hermione's. Not that she had expressed any interest in moving on quite yet, but still…Draco couldn't help but wonder how many blokes would be after her now for her fame and fortune. As the last of the Golden Trio, reporters and gold-diggers alike were bound to be all over her. He frowned suddenly and caught a growl bubbling up in the back of his throat. Well, let them try to bother her. They'd all have to face him, first. Draco Malfoy would see to her guaranteed privacy personally for many years to come, that was certain.

It was the least he could do for Harry.

Madam Malkin emerged from the back of the store and greeted him. "Mr. Malfoy," she murmured, "how may I serve you this morning? May I assume you are here for mourning robes as well?"

He nodded. "Yes, but not for myself. I was unfortunate enough to acquire some a few years ago. It's my son that I need them for, but he's in the hospital at the moment and cannot come in for a fitting. I did the best I could with measurements, if you need them…"

She nodded and took the folded parchment from his hands. "Yes, these will do. How old is he?"

"Nearly six," Draco replied.

"Very good. I am truly sorry for your loss, Mr. Malfoy. Please pass my condolences along to Ornella, as well. And I will have the robes for you to pick up tomorrow, if that is adequate."

Draco agreed and shook her hand, then nodded his farewell and walked from the shop. Well, that had been relatively painless. He'd almost forgotten how often Ornella must have visited Malkin for mourning robes. _It must be truly painful for our parents' generation to be alive at this time. We'd all assumed we'd reached the golden age of peace. No more death except natural and expected…no more destruction- only to have those assumptions ripped from the bosoms of our happy homes. It must be truly, truly terrible for those that have lived with this kind of pain thrice in their lifetimes._

Draco sighed and then squared his shoulders as he walked from the alley. Now it was back to the hospital and his family. There would be time for reflection later. Wasn't that what every generation told itself after tragedy?

_There is time enough to mourn; but later, when we aren't so busy. Later, when our lives have slowed. When our children are done growing; when we have retired from our work; when there isn't a meal to cook or a blanket to mend or a room to paint. _

Later.

Draco was rather tired of waiting for later. Sick of it, actually. What was that muggle saying? "No time like the present…" Well, that was certainly true. And if his son could handle Pansy's passing as well as he had been, then he deserved to know the truth about Harry.

* * *

When Draco reached the hospital he went directly to Barclay's room. The boy was awake and sitting up in his bed. Ornella was helping him with his exercises and Barclay tried to leap from his place when his father walked in the door. Draco smiled and went around to the other side, catching his son in his arms and giving him a fierce hug. Ornella smiled at them both.

"I'll just go and get your lunch for you, darling. Have a nice chat with your father while I'm away. Why don't you tell him about what you did already today?" Then she landed a kiss upon Barclay's forehead and left the two of them alone.

"Dad, Dad, I walked some this morning! It was on this machine that the one healer got me, but I was still walking. Maybe, I can visit Viola soon and you can take us to the park! Please, Daddy?" the boy spout off all at once.

Draco smiled at him and set his son away from him, but kept a firm grip on the boy's hands. "If that is what you would like to do, then perhaps in another week we could do that, yes." Then he tousled Barclay's hair very gently. "But you will have to ask Viola's mum if that would be alright. Okay?"

Barclay nodded and then sat back against his pillows, watching his father as he grew very, very quiet. "Dad, what's the matter? Are you missing Mummy?"

Draco looked up at him and squeezed his hands. "All the time, Barclay. I wish she could help me with _all_ of this," he said quietly, gesturing about them at the hospital room. "But right now, I need to say a few things to you. It's about that nice auror you keep asking about. Do you think you can listen very closely to me?"

Barclay watched his father, his eyes wide, but calm. He nodded his small head and held onto his father's hands tightly. Draco smiled at him, hoping desperately that it was reassuring. Then he gathered his courage and began to tell Barclay the story of Harry Potter, a boy whose mother had also died for the love of her son.

* * *

**AN: Wow, so sorry for the huge delay in updates. I haven't forgotten about my stories, though. Just been very, very busy. Very. Thanks for your continued support and patience!**


	37. In Remembrance Of

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_The simple act of caring is heroic._

_-Edward Albert_

* * *

The memorial service was big and beautiful and very, very grim. It was everything the wizarding world imagined it would be and Hermione desperately hoped it sated the press's curiosity. She was seated right up front with Viola, her parents, the Weasleys and most of the ministry department heads, officials and the faculty of Hogwarts. The face of the faculty hadn't changed too drastically since their generation's school days and it was almost comforting to see so many familiar faces.

Not that Hermione was paying too much attention to the attendees. She was staring straight ahead of herself, trying not to see the garish monument they had erected on the grounds, just a few meters from Dumbledore's sarcophagus. She was holding Viola upon her lap, her daughter's hands in her own, held very tightly, as they both fidgeted and ignored what the oh-so-lofty speaker (the tenth that morning) was saying. The monument had a large, tall marble base and the names of all the wizards and witches whose lives had been lost recently were inscribed upon it. On top of the base was a statue of Harry in his auror robes, broomstick in one hand and wand held out high in the other. It was an exact replica of Harry, right down to the scar on his forehead, and yet it wasn't like him at all.

The effect was one of the most horrifying and ludicrous things Hermione had ever seen. To see her beloved husband and _best _friend's face immortalized in cold, grey stone now, after losing him barely two weeks ago…after knowing him in full living, breathing color, his flesh and bone a part of her life in such an inextricable way…she held Viola more tightly and took a deep, steadying breath.

The next speaker stood then, the last before the service would end in a flurry of auror formations, Weasley fireworks, and a final, horribly sad song by the Hogwarts Chorale. Neville took the podium with shaky steps, but his head was held high. It had been a long, chilly morning despite the sun that streamed down upon them all and Neville knew, as well as any of them did, that nothing he could say would warm them. There was nothing left _to _say, in fact. Even for an award winning journalist. Even for someone who had been great friends with The Boy Who Lived (and had finally died, as we all do, even if it was at far too young an age). Even for the boy who had almost been The Boy Who Lived.

Neville spoke.

"There is nothing I can say that will make these losses seem acceptable," he began. "And there is especially nothing left to say about our friend- my friend- Harry Potter." His eyes swept over the crowd and then rested upon Ginny and his in-laws. Neville looked down at his hands, which held no notes for once, and he brought his gaze up to the monstrosity to his left. "Or perhaps, there is everything left to say." He paused and watched Hermione from the stand.

Hermione heard his words and she knew he was watching her. Asking her permission, silently, to continue. And as much as she wanted to scream and cry and yell at them all to leave her alone, she knew that the rest of the world needed this time. They needed some time, set aside especially to honor and remember the lives of those they held dearest and in highest regard. She brought her eyes to his and he smiled sadly at her. It was an apology, she knew. Because in order to remember someone truly, one had to place that person's entire life on display.

And that life had included herself. She nodded once at him and deferred her gaze again before he continued. He did not clear his throat, he did not wipe his eyes which were bright with dew. He simply spoke to them as if they had all sat down to tea at a knitting circle, or an engagement party.

"First of all, I am grateful to Harry. His sacrifice was not intentional, but it saved my life nonetheless. I do not think I could have lived the life he did. Harry was…well, he was _brilliant_. But it didn't matter how many times you told him that- he'd always pat you on the back and return the compliment, insisting he never did anything. And he didn't, really, except to just be himself." Neville looked up at the crowd, tears in his eyes. "I think- I'm _certain_, in fact- that we are going to miss him an awful lot. Not just because of the friend and father he was- but also because, for a great many of us, he a living symbol. He was the person that represented our lives, especially for my generation.

"Harry was more than a hero. He was the one who not only stopped it all, but who helped us to stop it all as well. He helped us find hope and courage. He helped us discover the strength of our characters." he paused and gazed out at Hermione once more. She wanted desperately to look at him, but she daren't move her eyes. If she did, she knew the tears that she was barely holding in would come spilling out.

She had to be strong for her children. Especially for Viola. Especially for the little one inside her who was completely helpless.

Hermione gave her head a small shake and looked up to Neville anyway. She couldn't help herself- she wished she could be the one to say those wonderful things, but she couldn't even stand. Her mother's hands grasped her forearm and her father's arm went about her shoulders tightly. She could barely see for the tears, but she knew that Neville was crying, too.

Almost the entire crowd behind her was crying, in fact. Despite the sun's rays upon their shrouded and chapeau covered heads, the mourning was palpable- like a very humid day, or a foggy London morning.

Neville looked out over the people: his coworkers, his companions, and many of his friends and continued once more. He didn't have much left to say, really. What else could he say?

"Behind every great figure in history are many, many people. People just like ourselves. The survivors. Those that were lucky- or is it unfortunate enough? It's gotten hard to tell, hasn't it? Well- we're the ones who get left behind. And more often than not, the greatest ones of all are those that history forgets about.

"I know that some of you will think it unfortunate- as some are bound to think it vain of me to include myself in the same category of hero as Harry…but the truth is that some of us want to be forgotten. Harry was one of those people. You've all read it in the biographies, in the endless newspaper and magazine articles and some of you even heard it from his own lips: Harry hated publicity and notoriety. He wanted to live a quiet life and be allowed to do his job and love his family in private." His voice dimmed abruptly as he remembered the hours spent with such a driven, yet self-effacing young man. He felt his eyes mist once more and he looked down to Hermione again. Then he continued to speak his final piece- it was the most he felt he could do for her at that moment. "Most of us feel exactly the same way. We may be heroes to you and your children and grandchildren, but it was the circumstances and the people leading us that made us icons. To us, to ourselves and our families and loved ones, we are nothing more than ordinary witches and wizards living in extraordinary times.

"All I can ask of you in remembering Harry is that you also remember his desire for privacy. For the simple life. For love and peace and quiet, despite his choice of career. Please, remember him and all those who have passed recently in your hearts and minds…and know that although we do it behind closed doors, in the privacy of our own homes, we are grieving with you. And this morning, we all grieve together."

* * *

No one spoke after him. No one seemed to want to speak. They were all too busy weeping- hugging, exchanging significant glances, and- perhaps the best part of the morning- casting nasty looks at the other journalists and photographers. Eventually, someone did stand up to inform the crowd that there would be spiced pumpkin juice and cider being served in the entrance hall of the school and later in the day, they would be showing picture slides of Harry's school days and old Quidditch matches. It hadn't been Hermione's idea, but she pretended not to mind. She supposed, in fact, that someday she would want to watch things like that herself and share them with Viola. Just like all the photo albums she and Harry had stashed away for that rainy day that never came.

Her daughter tugged on her hand and she looked down. Viola's eyes were wide, but tired. They'd had to get up early in order to take the train out to Hogwarts. She secretly hoped it would be Viola's last visit to Hogwarts for at least another six years. Imagine how the girl would feel, having to come to school here everyday and seeing that ghastly statue of her father?

"Mummy, when do we get to go see Da?" She yawned suddenly and rubbed at her eyes with her free hand. Hermione caught her breath and then reached down, swinging the little girl up into her own petite arms.

"Soon, my darling. Viola," she paused, and the girl turned her face to her mother. Hermione brushed some hair from her forehead. "Vi, you know that it won't really be Daddy, right? We talked about this last night. Before you went to sleep?"

The girl nodded again and then, before Hermione could continue the conversation, she leaned her head upon her mother's shoulder and was fast asleep. Hermione sighed and looked about the crowd. It had thinned already near the front of the seating area and she could easily see through the groups of people, picking out familiar faces. It was amazing to her how many people had come. She supposed that her and Harry's life together had flown under the radar so easily that she never realized how many people still thought of him and the rest of their generation as an inspiration.

It would have been creepy and disturbing in any other circumstance, particularly since Neville had been right: the last thing Harry had ever wanted was to be canonized. She rolled her eyes in a rather depressed fashion and turned her head, kissing the top of Viola's head soundly. A voice behind her suddenly interrupted the moment and she turned around.

The equally depressed face of Cho Chang greeted her. It wasn't entirely depression, though; there was also pity staring at her from behind those big, dark brown eyes. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes again.

"Hello, Hermione," Cho said softly. "I wanted to tell you- that is, I thought I should say-" she paused, watching the other witch's face for some sign that the intrusion was unwelcome. None came and Hermione seemed quite content to let yet another old comrade flounder about for words. Cho let out a small sigh and pushed forward. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. Harry was a good man. I've been thinking of you a great deal this last week."

It wasn't exactly what Hermione had been expecting from the older witch, and although it was close enough to what she was used to hearing by now, for some reason Cho's attempt at comfort touched her. She returned the smile.

"Thank you, Cho. I hope that none of this has awakened too many memories for you."

Cho shook her head. "It didn't awaken anything. Some memories never leave us, do they?" Her eyes shifted away and Hermione knew she was looking up at the monstrosity. "It isn't very like him, is it?" she murmured.

A giggle escaped Hermione's lips and she choked back the laughter. There was no telling when it could turn into hysteria. Cho looked back to her and smiled again. It was a serious expression this time though, and Hermione looked down at Viola, swaying back and forth a little.

"Hermione…I know this is probably a little unwelcome right now, and you certainly don't have to- or need to- take my advice. If you want, you can yell at me after I say this, I won't mind, honestly. But I wanted to let you know how I got through losing Cedric." She paused and watched Hermione's face for another sign, but again, the Harry's widow was quiet. If she hadn't known her so well, Cho would've assumed she wasn't even listening. But Cho knew better, so she kept talking.

"I wasn't in very good shape emotionally back then. Even when I tried to move on, I didn't really- I still saw him in every classroom. I cried myself to sleep most nights." Her eyes misted and she swallowed hard. Even now, it was difficult to speak openly about her struggle, but she forced herself to continue. Usually, once she got the first few sentences out, it got easier to talk. "My parents were very worried about me- so was my house head. They all suggested that I go to a support group for young people who had also suffered a similar loss. I know it seems like the hardest thing to do right now- to share your pain with others- but it helped me a great deal. I still attend group sessions a few times a year…and I also work with the surviving family and friends. I try to encourage people to join, even to come to just one meeting…" She paused again and retrieved a small card from her pocket book; then she held it out, offering it to Hermione.

"Please stop by my office any time, Hermione. Don't hesitate to call me if you ever need anything. And I truly hope to see you at our adult meetings, when you're ready."

Hermione reached out and took the card, reading it carefully. Then she looked up at Cho and nodded. Her eyes were brimming over as well. "Thank you, Cho," she responded, her voice belying her surprise. "I don't know-" she stopped, unsure of what to say.

"Please, don't make any decisions right now. And don't worry about coming right away, or hurting my feelings if you never come. I just want you to at least _consider _it. And thank _you, _Hermione. Harry was the best and he deserved someone like you. Please, take care of yourself. I'm sure I'll see you soon." The taller witch leaned forward and gave Hermione a small hug before turning and walking away.

Hermione watched her go, still unable to speak. She looked back to the card in her free hand and then put it carefully in her coat pocket. Cho meant well…and perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to have some support. She wasn't ready to sit around with a bunch of strangers yet, but perhaps soon. There was no harm in trying, anyway. She sighed and gave Vi another kiss. Her daughter began to stir again and she felt a hand on her shoulder just then.

Molly smiled softly at her. "It's almost time to head to the port key, Hermione, love. Why don't you walk with Arthur and me?"

Hermione managed a nod. "That sounds nice, Molly. Thank you."

* * *

Neville and Ginny watched the two women walk off towards Arthur and then looked at one another significantly. Ginny held Ronald's hand a little more tightly and gave her husband a stiff smile. They had left their three youngest at home under the watchful eyes of Neville's swiftly ailing, but still spunky , grandmother. Ginny would have been more nervous about it if she hadn't known that the large, orange mongrel that lived next door had also taken an interest in protecting her babies. When it wasn't feeding them crayons, of course.

Neville raised an eyebrow. "Well, it looks like we won't have to broach the subject anymore, thank Merlin."

"Quite," Ginny replied. "Remind me to send Cho a lovely gift basket for Christmas this year."

* * *

**AN: I think I may skip the funeral service. I hate writing eulogies. They suck. I'll probably refer to the event, but don't expect a full scale chapter description or anything. Also, I think some of you may have gotten the wrong idea about the smiling going on- they aren't happy smiles, people. They're the kinds of smiles that people give one another out of habit, in the hope that smiling will eventually make them happy again, or make things better somehow. It's not a sign that they're over the disaster or anything of the sort, ok? Thanks!**


	38. More Uncertainty

**I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**AN: I apologize for my long absence and sporadic updates of my now longest running serial (?). I explained a bit in my profile. Very sorry. Please continue. :)**

* * *

_Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship.  
-Oscar Wilde_

* * *

Draco waited with Barclay at the back of the greeting line. The funeral service itself hadn't taken nearly as long and he was glad for it. It was a cool day, even for late September. Despite their heavy, dark robes and the scarves Ornella had been thoughtful enough to insist they take with them, he could feel Barclay beginning to shiver in his arms. Draco was silently cursing himself now for bringing his son at all. He knew it was the right thing, but the boy would be attending his own mother's funeral in less than week- wasn't that more than enough trauma for one little boy?

Ah, well. Barclay probably would have insisted he be allowed to come to Harry's whether Draco liked it or not. The boy had been surprisingly adamant about that. _He saved my life, Daddy,_ the boy had replied again and again to repeated queries as to how he was feeling and was he sure he wanted to go? Draco had felt rather proud of him then and had sent up a quick prayer that whatever he and Pansy had done right for the first six years, he could continue to do alone.

He held his son closer and stepped nearer to the front of the line. Though they were under the protection of a tent, the weather in Godric's Hollow was not as sunny as the grounds of Hogwarts had been and a soft rain was beginning to fall on the village square where the small reception was being held. Potter had been buried in the Hollow's graveyard, not far from his parents, and his name had been added to their monument.

It was all very poignant, he supposed, if one cared. _Stop that,_ he told himself. _You cared a great deal for Harry. What's with the vitriol now? _He shook his head and stepped forward again. They were nearing Hermione and her family now- The Weasleys first, followed by her parents on either side of her. The little girl was in her arms as well and they both looked dead on their feet. He looked down to Barclay again and smiled reassuringly. His son was beginning to look a little nervous.

"Still scared of Viola, son?" he murmured. Barclay frowned.

"Daddy!"

Draco managed a grin. "Just checking. Ah, Mrs. Weasley," he said, turning towards the first host as they reached her.

"And what do you have to smiling about this morning?" Molly responded, her eyes flashing. Her husband placed his arm about her shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

"Molly," he said quietly. Then he put out his hand to shake Draco's. "Malfoy," he responded, "I am sorry for your loss, as well." He cleared his throat. "How are you- uh- holding up?"

Draco put out his own gloved hand and grasped the older wizard's hand firmly. He bent his head towards his son and gave the man a significant glance. "As well as can be expected? Isn't that the typical response? Anyway, thank you for asking- and thank you for having us here. We have all felt this loss."

"Right, well," Arthur replied, his voice gruff with emotion. "Keep that little one safe for us. Don't let the sacrifice go to waste."

Draco felt his face involuntary grow hard and stern and he made an effort to smooth his features before responding. "As if I could," he whispered before letting Arthur's hand go and moving forward.

Ginny's arms were enveloping him and Barclay before he realized what was happening and he returned the hug gingerly. When she finally let him go, her eyes were damp.

"Malfoy," she growled as she wiped her cheeks.

He smiled as amicably as possible without letting his own tears come. "Weaselby," he replied cheerfully. She almost laughed and then he was confronted by a hug from that damnable Longbottom as well. He was finding it swiftly and increasingly difficult to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Merlin, you too?" he responded before Neville had even let go.

"Oh shut it, you moron. Hey, I've written Pansy's- well, er," he paused and eyed Barclay. Draco looked at his son and then back at Neville.

"I see," he remarked as casually as possible. "Thank you." Draco grabbed the other man's hand suddenly and gripped it very tightly. "_Thank you _," he responded again and then moved on. He knew perfectly well what Neville had meant. _I've written Pansy's obituary for the papers, _the other wizard had been trying to say. He also appreciated him not saying anything further with Barclay right there. While his son was handling everything rather well, he wasn't sure it was good to hit him with too many things all at once.

A few Weasleys later and Draco was finally standing in front of Hermione's mother. He nodded once at the woman before she, too, pulled him into yet another strange embrace. Strange because he was so unused to receiving hugs; especially strange because the people who were giving them would never have hugged him in any normal circumstance. It was only now, that something precious had been taken; that they were all suffering the same losses; that it was appropriate and even welcome to embrace one's enemy. He was certain that if Voldemort had still been alive and lost a loved one in the recent disasters that he would have been welcomed like a king.

Well, maybe not a _king._ And then, for the first time since his own, personal loss, he smirked.

It would have been a good sign at any other moment, except for the unfortunate coincidence that it happened while he was standing in front of Hermione.

* * *

Happily, it brought the first signs of life to Hermione's face since _her _loss and she was too overwhelmed with feeling anything other than grief that she couldn't _do _anything to him except scowl furiously. It allowed Draco enough time to realize what was happening and wipe his face clean. He couldn't keep the corners of his mouth from twitching, however. Hermione did her best to keep her filter on and greeted him stiffly.

"Draco. Thank you for coming," she ground out.

He nodded at her. "Welcome," he managed, his voice sounding as pinched as her face looked. Then, as their children began to perk up and become interested in one another, he couldn't help the rest that came tumbling out.

"I'm sorry about that- well, not just that, about everything- but I didn't mean to smirk at you, I swear it. I would never try to provoke you- not on a day like today, at any rate…oh, bugger," he finished in a murmur.

Hermione's eyes, glistening suspiciously, disappeared in a fit of discomfited blinking. She hefted Viola up again and sighed.

"Well," she responded.

He looked at her hopefully and she glanced away from his stare. Barclay and Viola looked from one parent to the next before glancing at one another significantly.

And before Barclay began to pass out.

Draco scrambled to support his son's lolling frame and smiled apologetically at Hermione. "I'm so sorry- he's been tired lately, I know, but he insisted on coming with me-"

Hermione was suddenly alert and the sin of a smirk was forgotten. "Is he okay? Do you need to sit him down for a while? It is cold under here despite the warming spells, isn't it? Let me-"

"No, look, there are some seats just over there, please stop fussing, Hermione-"

She spun around from asking her father to find a chair and glared- _guiltily, if that's possible, _Draco thought.

"Draco, that little boy is my little girl's best friend and she's only just started to recover, herself, so pardon me if I fret over his safety," she hissed. In a more normal tone she said, "Besides, it's no trouble. We're all tied into one another now, whether we like it or not. Whether your smirk still makes me insanely angry- that doesn't matter much, now." Then she kissed Viola firmly on the head, reassured her of Barclay's safety, and handed the girl off to her mother before turning back to Draco and leading him towards an available seat. Mr. Granger stepped back without a question and returned to the greeting line. It was only fair his daughter should take a break, after all. He didn't turn his thought to the tow headed father and son duo anymore than the lack of sunshine that day.

Hermione watched Draco sit Barclay down on the chair and kneel in front of the boy. "Is he- what's going on?" she asked disjointedly.

Draco shook his head and loosened Barclay's scarf a little in the hopes that it was just a fainting spell. To his relief, the boy's lids began fluttering and he seemed to come to. Hermione reached out a hand and smoothed the hair from his forehead. Barclay seemed to respond to her touch- murmuring something in return.

Draco leaned closer to catch the words and felt the blood drain from his face.

"Mummy?" Barclay was whispering in a hoarse voice. Hermione's hand paused as she also realized what he was saying.

"Oh- I'm sorry, Draco…perhaps- I think I'd better go back to the line."

Draco nodded and could feel his throat closing on him, a sure sign of tears. He started to stand and made a gesture towards his son as if to go, but he found a hand suddenly on his arm.

"No- that's not what I meant, Draco…please, don't leave yet. Take as much time as you need. I'll be back in a little bit. There aren't many people left. Please, just…" her voice trailed off and then she hurried back to the line and the last guests to be greeted. He looked after her, unsure of what had just occurred, but glad, somehow, to be staying. He turned his attention back to his son, who was looking decidedly better. Had he just gotten too tired? Was he running a fever?

Barclay opened his eyes fully and looked to his father. "Daddy? Where am I? Did I miss Viola?"

Draco shook his head. "You've just gotten a little tired, I think. How do you feel?"

The boy blinked several times and held up his hands, looking at them carefully. "How do I take my pulse?"

"Why? Does your chest hurt, Barclay?"

"No…but it's very fast- it's going very fast…it's a little hard to breathe, I think," he responded, reaching up to loosen his scarf some more. Draco watched him for a second, concerned, and then took one of his wrists in his hand and pushed the glove down a bit so he could feel at the boy's wrist. He shook his sleeve up some so he could look at his watch and began to count.

The boy was right; his pulse was racing. Draco's brows drew together as he frowned again. This was exactly what had happened back at the hospital, the first day the doctors had woken him up. He had been awake for only a few minutes- seconds, really, when something had happened that sent his pulse racing at a speed that his still recovering body simply couldn't handle. Hermione and Viola had been there that day, too- hadn't his son looked straight at the little girl? But the healers hadn't been able to determine why his heart had sped up in that manner, other than perhaps it had been all the stimulus of being awake for the first time in days…

With a start, Draco drew back from Barclay and looked over his shoulder to a few meters away where Hermione stood, holding Viola once more. Her petite frame was shivering with the cold and the strain of holding her child for so long. He wondered why she didn't just hand the girl over to her grandfather, but realized that she was probably as reluctant to let go of Viola as he was of Barclay. The children were the only tie either of them truly had to their dead spouses now; more true in her case than his, perhaps. After all, Harry had no close family or relatives left- from what he understood, the Dursleys had moved to the United States before the war had even finished and had never returned. Besides, with the stories about his childhood, it was no wonder she didn't want to contact them- if she'd even thought of it in the first place.

In front of him, Barclay moaned and began to squirm a bit. He turned his attention back to his son and stood, lifting the boy into his arms once more. If his hunch was correct about what was causing his erratic heart beat, then he needed to speak with Hermione and get them all to the hospital for some testing. Unfortunately, that meant approaching Hermione _and _Viola again, and he wasn't sure he was willing to risk his son's health anymore. His eyes softened as he watched the mother and daughter murmuring to one another in quiet tones. It wasn't entirely fair to Viola, of course, to keep her from his son without proof of consequence (or likewise), but Harry had made the decision for him when he'd saved his son. It wasn't Viola's fault that a part of Harry now ran strong through Barclay's blood and skin, tying him to the little girl in still unforeseen ways…

Hermione looked back over her shoulder just then and her eyes met Draco's. She looked at him strangely for a moment, confused as to why he was leaving when she'd asked him- politely, too- to _stay_. When she wasn't sure if she'd ever asked him to do that. When both their hearts were breaking because of the death that hovered so near them still, yet beat wildly the same in the presence of one another.

He shook his head at her and mouthed an apology before turning to exit the tent. She frowned after him before turning back to the remaining guests. Well. If he didn't want to stay, then she couldn't make him. Perhaps it was for the best, anyway. The boy clearly wasn't better yet- it was a wonder he'd been able to stand the outing…although it was a very generous gesture on Draco's part. She felt her heart strings pull a little at the thought and couldn't help but turn around again to look for the tall wizard's pale head of hair in the drifting crowd. She thought she saw him in the distance, getting into a car, but couldn't be certain. And besides, this was her husband's funeral. It wasn't very seemly, she supposed, for her to spend so much time thinking about another man when they'd barely put Harry in the ground.

With that thought, she turned back to her place and stalwartly put out her hand to shake yet another mourner's germ covered appendage. She hoped valiantly that her mother had remembered to pack some antibacterial hand gel.

Then she remembered that she was a witch and knew several perfectly good disinfecting spells and potions.

Well, thank heaven for small favors.

The rain continued on down in a drizzle and the remainder of the day passed in much the same fashion.


	39. Offense, or Offence

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_The graveyards in my visions mirror the pain of my flawed desires.  
-Z. Hazel Ballantine_

* * *

Draco stared at the healer from across Barclay's bedside. "What are you saying?"

"Just that, Mr. Malfoy," the man responded evenly. "If you truly think the attacks are related to the Potter girl, then we'll need her in to run a few tests. I'm not saying it doesn't make sense, in theory, but the only way to know for certain is if we have them both in here to monitor for a bit. If we leave it as is and he recovers fully, to the point where his heart can stand the faster rhythm, then it won't matter much." He smiled at Barclay and ruffled the boy's hair, who was gazing up at him sleepily. "But from what you've told me already, I doubt you'll be able to keep the two tykes away from one another long enough to see that through."

"It's just that-" Draco paused and searched for words. The other wizard seemed to sense what he was thinking and smiled wryly.

"Mrs. Potter isn't aware yet of all the details surrounding your son's second chance at life, is she?" When Draco nodded and shrugged, the man sighed. "Well, she'll find out eventually. I'm sure the information exists outside of Mungo's already. It's only a matter of time. But," he added, placing a passing hand on Draco's shoulder as he left, "I'm certain she will understand. These things do happen, you know. Now, I'll leave you two. Please don't hesitate to call. I think Barclay will be okay to go home in another day or so."

Draco nodded and thanked the man again before turning back to his son. "Hear that, Barclay? Where would you rather go once we can leave? Want to spend some time with Grandmother Ornella in the country?"

Barclay seemed to nod, his lids heavy with sleep, barely able to hold his head up. His father smiled down at him fondly and gently helped him lay back down upon his pillows.

"Alright then. She'll be here soon to stay with you. And in a few days we'll all spend some time in the fresh air…with blue skies above us and the trees waving in the chilly autumn winds…" As Barclay drifted to sleep, Draco wondered.

What was he going to do about Hermione and Viola? He knew what he wanted to do, but Barclay was all he had left now and it was his responsibility to take care of him first. And being around Viola might do more harm than good right now…

Barclay's small fist clenched about his father's hand and Draco smiled again. "I know, Barclay," he whispered. "I don't like it either. I'm sorry. I promise I'll make it up to you once you're better. I promise."

He knew what needed to be done.

* * *

Days passed after the funeral and Hermione still hadn't heard from Draco about Barclay. She was just starting to worry, but every time she began to grow concerned she would remind herself that despite Harry's best efforts, it was none of her business.

And then, in the next few days, she would of course _forget_ that it was none of her business and begin to worry all over again. It was getting to be rather frustrating. She sighed and put down her pencil, turning to stare out the living room window of her parent's home for the hundredth time that day. The weather was lovely, for once, and she had been asking Viola everyday since the funeral if she wanted to go somewhere or do something.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to go spend some time at the park, darling?" she asked again.

Her daughter stared up at her, shaking her head once more. "Barclay's daddy _told _me that he would write. I have to stay in and wait for my mail to come." With a finality that echoed her father's stubborn nature, she turned back to the coloring book of unicorns.

Hermione shrugged and turned away from the paperwork she'd been trying to get through. Fred had dropped some off yesterday from George (who was apparently quite busy now that his temporary status as Vice-Minister had been changed to permanent), who had nominated Hermione to fill his position as head of the department. She still wasn't sure she wanted to, but even though she and Viola were quite well provided for, money was money and with a new little mouth to feed and the need to expand into a bigger living space, well…who was she to turn down a promotion? Besides, this would put her and Malfoy on the same level and it was always nice to have an extra bargaining chip when dealing with that man.

That man…she turned to the window once more.

Viola glanced up from her coloring book to find her mummy staring out the window with that funny, dreamy look on her face again. She screwed up her face and put her crayon down.

"Mummy," she began, "do _you _want to go to the park?"

Hermione looked over at her and smiled. "Oh, I thought you'd never ask, darling!" she replied before standing up and holding out her hand. "Come on, I bet Grandmum will come with us- even pack us a picnic lunch, how about that?"

The mail, though not the family it was supposed to come from, was forgotten for the moment and more days passed. Hermione was uncertain, to say the least, about how she would handle the coming months without her husband and best of friends, but he was buried now. There was no getting around facts such as death and destruction; they had learned that lesson together years ago. At least…and it was small comfort, indeed…but at least Harry was with his other family now. His mother and father, grandparents he'd never met, even Sirius, Remus and Tonks…and perhaps Dumbledore. Perhaps even Snape.

And that thought would have to sustain her as she lived for her children in the coming months. They were, wherever the other was, neither of them alone.

* * *

After the initial picnic which got them out of the house, it was hard for Hermione to keep her daughter in the house to do her schoolwork, let alone for meals and naps. Her mother finally asked if it wouldn't be better for Viola to have some company- children her own age to play with, but when Hermione asked Viola if she wanted to go back to school yet, the girl shook her head. It seemed that without Barclay, school was a very desolate place, indeed. Still, Hermione agreed with her mother. Although it had been lovely to take a break and let someone else worry over her, she had to face reality.

Reality being that if Molly Weasley didn't get her chance at taking care of Viola, heads might roll. So Hermione gave in with as good of grace as she could manage just then and after two weeks of staying with her parents, she took her daughter to The Burrow. There was plenty of space for both of them, with one son gone and five other children out of the house, Molly promised that if they could stand Percy (who was sticking close to his room), then it was no trouble at all. There were also plenty of playmates for Vi, as both Neville and Ginny were going back to work and that meant their children were spending a great deal of time at the family home.

Ronald, of course, was back at school, but he was being sent to his grandmother's after school because Neville insisted he couldn't get anything done having to watch not only the twins, but their little sister, too. So, the littlest one stayed with him in their town home while the twins spent some time with their grandparents and very drunk, very grouchy Uncle Percy- occasionally over run by their elder brother Ronald. Hermione wasn't able to get the whole story from Molly because she didn't even know all the details, but in addition to the three younger ones being a handful, a neighbors' cat had decided to make the twins its protégés. Hermione listened with only half an ear as Molly promised to watch over Viola very carefully while her mother spent half days in the city (in the morning of course, so that she could help Molly when Ronald came home in the afternoon) attending to business.

And still no word from Draco. Not that Hermione was letting it bother her too much…aside from the awkward daydreams, worry pains and habitual window watching, she barely thought of him. She was focusing more on organizing a future _sans_ Draco and his son- it was the only way she could keep down her breakfast. For although she knew there were feelings for him lurking beneath the surface of her mind, it was too early for them. Every stray moment lost in thought about the man made her feel positively traitorous to Harry, which in turn made her sick to her stomach.

Another man holding her? Comforting her? Taking care of _Harry's _children? What were marriage vows for, if they could be forgotten so easily by the simple touch of a hand or sideways glance?

She knew that she was, on some level, being ridiculous. She knew that even if Draco still felt for her that way- well, he'd said as much already- that it was too early for either of them. So what were they doing now, waiting for the other to be ready? For a suitable period of mourning to pass? It was all very confusing. Far more confusing than a future that didn't include the Malfoys, in fact, which was why Hermione was doing her best not to think about Draco. It was why she was planning around them instead of with them. She couldn't help their children's friendship- she would encourage it, even- but as for her heart…it needed space.

For how long, she wasn't certain. Perhaps for at least as long as it would take to clear out the flat. For as long as it would take for her to get back to work full time, maybe.

She would see. In the meantime, he certainly was doing his best to avoid her as well, which wasn't difficult. Neither of them were back at work yet- they worked in different departments anyway, and she was only going in for a few minutes here and there to deposit paperwork. Fred had finally gotten tired of playing the messenger and even Molly had made some sounds of agreement when it was suggested she start taking small trips into the Ministry.

When she'd consulted with George over the phone, he'd sounded a little uncertain, himself. "We'll hold the department head position for you if you need more time," he'd protested.

Hermione could hear the strain in his voice, however, and knew full well that he had been shouldering his old job as well as the new one, waiting for her to come back. She explained patiently to him that she could handle it- besides, it would mostly involve taking paperwork home with her as the department head rarely actually left the ministry. She was rather looking forward to delegating all that work, she told him cheerily. He'd laughed and admitted that he was swamped.

"Percy didn't do half the things he should've- and all the things he _was _doing weren't really his job! Melusine was brilliant to deal with his shady procedures as well as she did. She rechecked everything that went by him, did you know that? She had to in order to keep up on what was actually happening in the Ministry. But with that good will tour, well…things slipped by."

"Like the wards," Hermione had murmured.

"Exactly. Well, I'd better be off. More goblins to interview."

"Oh, have you taken care of that business?"

"Have we ever! No less than a hundred goblins either had information pertaining to it or were directly involved in the original rebellion- can you believe it? I thought their lifespan was far shorter than that."

Hermione had let him go at that, but resolved to check into the question. There was no way a goblin could live that long…was there? She'd filed the information away for future research and had proceeded to speak to her mum about going back to work. That was when her mother had suggested they go spend some time with the Weasleys. Hermione knew, of course, that her mother would have loved to keep them on for a great deal longer, but she was right. Viola needed playmates- distractions. And she wasn't going to get them around her grandparents' neighborhood.

* * *

So, Viola was planted safely at The Burrow and Hermione had a few hours in the morning to herself everyday, which was where she found herself two weeks after the funeral. She had just flooed out of Molly's kitchen after saying a long goodbye to Viola and was making her way from a nearby warehouse towards the Ministry. The sidewalks were not as crowded as they would have been nearly a month ago, but there were still more people out and about than had been that one dreadful week they'd spent working on the case. The weather was starting to cool some and while the leaves on the trees were still debating about whether to change colors or not, the balmy days of late summer had given off to the rainy season.

Although, as Hermione gazed up at the sky above her, there was not a cloud in sight at the moment. Her spirits lifted a little and she forged ahead, finally exiting the street for the entrance to the Ministry. She'd been back twice already, though just brief stops- today would be her first sojourn for longer than ten minutes. She intended to spend half the morning in her department- _my department_, she thought and smiled nervously. _There's no reason to be nervous- you've been working here for quite some time already. What's there to worry over? _She wanted to clean out her old office and get settled into the new one- maybe take care of some case files and her personal reports, if there was time. After she was done in the Ministry she fully intended to go to the flat and begin the cleaning process.

Whether her feet would actually take her there or not was another matter entirely.

She made her way through the Atrium once she'd been flushed and found the crowd that morning less than energetic. The crush of wizards and witches moving through the space, even that hour of the morning, was abominable, as always, but she seemed to find it more stifling than usual. Perhaps it was the pregnancy. And why hadn't anyone spelled on the air refreshers? As she tried to push her way past a groups of witches that was standing stock still in the middle of the thoroughfare, she heard someone call her name.

"Granger?"

She turned about from her goal and stopped as well, wiping her hair from her face and pulling out her wand in order to cast a small cooling spell on her robes. She wouldn't have worn her heavy ones at all, but the weather was cooling down and Molly was particularly rabid over her condition. She sighed and looked about for whomever had called to her. A shock of blond hair perched atop a tall frame made its way towards her and she tensed. Malfoy wouldn't approach her right out here, in the open, would he? _Well why not?_ the voice in her head murmured. _It's not as if you don't know one another. Besides, why care now what other people think of your relationship? It's not as if you have wars or reputations to get in the way of things now…not even a hus-_ she shut her mind up abruptly, refusing to finish such a thought. Luckily, the wizard reached her just then and she realized his hair was more of a caramel color. It was Smith, not Draco.

"Alright? Are you really back?" he asked politely.

She tossed her head and sighed again as the cooling spell began to take effect. "Managing. And yes, for a few hours, at least. Do you need something?"

"Malfoy is interviewing my uncle. As long as you're here, would you like a shot?"

"What on earth is he doing that for?"

"He decided he might as well update the muggle incident reports from around that time period- well, Weasley recommended it and as you weren't here last week…"

She stared at him, surprised. It wasn't entirely unusual for muggle incident reports to find themselves being filed in Muggle Relations, but anything before 1999 was still her department's territory. Those incident reports, along with the catastrophe reports from the same time period were strictly her area. What did he think he was doing? It was practically the same thing as calling her an incompetent, grief-stricken widow with no fortitude!

"So he's doing my job?" Hermione ground out.

A look of dawning horror appeared on Smith's face as he realized what he'd just said and how it was likely to sound to the fiery woman before him. "Er- no! That's not what they meant by it at all- it just needed doing and I figured, since you're here now, you might like to take over-"

Hermione would have spun on her heel and taken off for Draco's department right away if she wasn't still feeling a little shaky. Instead, she closed her eyes, counted to fifteen, and then grabbed hold of Smith's arm. "If you'd be so kind as to escort me there?"

It wasn't really a question and Smith nodded quickly. He pushed through the same group of witches Hermione had tried to navigate and made his way to the lifts with her hanging off his arm. He looked back only once to see her glowering, though not at him, and didn't say another word to her; they rode the lift in silence.

He could only guess as to what her thoughts were and, not for the first time, he was glad he was not his boss.

* * *

**AN: Nice to be back, I must say. I was culling through some old chapters and noticed an AN where I told you I would have this story finished by end of summer. Ha! Perhaps the coming summer. Nah, just kidding. I will try to have it finished by the end of this school semester. I'm back to writing regularly, so with gaps here and there you can expect a fairly steady stream of updates. Gar, this year is hellish, yeah? Love to all. Thanks for sticking with me.**


	40. Surprising Acceptance

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_I was nauseous and tingly all over. I was either in love or I had smallpox._

_-Woody Allen_

* * *

By the time they had made their way to Muggle Relations, Hermione wasn't feeling up to raking Draco over hot coals anymore. In fact, Smith noted with some concern, she was looking more as though _she _was the one who had just walked through fire. Despite the cooling spell she'd cast, her face was a bright pink and her hair was sticking to the back of her neck in a willful manner. She tugged on his arm some and he slowed his movements.

"What's the matter? Are you okay, Potter?"

Hermione shook her head, her lips pressed in a tight line. Apparently her breakfast disagreed with the little one, but she was afraid that if she opened her mouth to say so then said breakfast would be all over the floor.

Smith got the hint anyway and steered her toward the restroom instead of Draco's office. As funny as he thought it would be to see the look on Malfoy's face when Hermione upchucked all over his desk, he daren't take the chance. Hermione squeezed his arm gratefully and disappeared in the witches' room. He stood outside the door waiting for her to finish.

Hermione had just gone in when he heard voices nearing them and turned to look. Draco was leading his uncle by the arm much the same way he had just led Hermione.

"Finished already?" he called.

Draco looked over to him and nodded. "Care to take Mr. Smith home for the day?"

Smith shrugged. "Yeah, I can do that. My father is home now so he shouldn't be a problem."

The old wizard grumbled a great deal, but allowed himself to be handed off. Smith smiled indulgently at his muttered ramblings and patted his arm. He was about to turn away with his ward when he remembered Hermione. He stopped short and looked pointedly at Draco.

"Malfoy," he began, "don't be upset, but I saw Potter in the Atrium and brought her down here. I thought she'd like to take over the interviews, as she's coming back to work."

Draco stared at him. "Where is she now?"

"In the restroom, tossing her cookies I imagine. I think she's a bit out of sorts over your interviews, too." Then, feeling that he'd successfully handed off one problem for another, Smith turned and made his way to the exit with his uncle in tow.

Draco glared after him. If ever an employee deserved a demotion, it was that man. Or at least a smaller office. He couldn't discount the help that Smith had provided the past three weeks…more, really, if he included the last few years. So, with a sigh he took up Smith's former post by the door to the witches' room.

Hermione exited a few minutes later, looking decidedly more pale than before, which left the sheen of sweat across her brow shining sickly in the lamplight. Draco immediately moved forward, despite his intention of keeping his distance. He had done a decent job of staying out of her way the last few weeks. It was easier when he knew he wouldn't be seeing her at work to go straight home to spend time with Barclay after work. He was taking his car all the way from the city out to The Brambles these days, as both he and Ornella felt that the country air was better for a recovering little boy. It also kept Barclay a fair distance from Viola, which was regretful, but perhaps necessary. It was pleasant out there- cool, peaceful…the home had an aura of uninterrupted serenity about it. He supposed that was Ornella's doing. Pansy had always loved going home for visits, despite many sad memories. Draco hoped that one day the town home would have that appeal for him…Malfoy Manor certainly didn't. Especially as his mother was still living there, holed up like a batty old hag. He grimaced, thinking such a thing of his own mother, but his guilt didn't make it any less true.

At any rate, the woman standing before him now bore little resemblance to his mother and he was very glad for it. She was, however, still looking decidedly green around the edges. He put his arm out to steady her.

"Going to be alright?" he asked softly.

She managed a nod. "Need to sit," she whispered.

"Come to my office," he suggested, motioning her along the small corridor to his doorway. She leaned on his arm the entire way there in a manner that alarmed him. Once they were inside, he immediately sat her in a nearby armchair before closing the door.

"Hermione," he asked quickly, "is there anything I can do for you? Get you? I know several good spells for nausea- Pansy had some rather bad pregnancies."

Hermione's head lolled back against the seat and she nodded weakly. "And some water…this came up rather suddenly…sorry," she murmured.

He shrugged away her apology and pulled his wand out, waving it delicately over her. In a few moments, she could feel the nausea subsiding and then he pressed a clear glass of water into both her hands. She held it up and drank greedily for several seconds. Draco sat across from her, arms on his knees, leaning forward. He offered her his handkerchief next and she took it, daubing at her forehead and neck. She could feel a light breeze ruffling the edges of her robes and realized he had also cast a cooling spell on the room. _How thoughtful_, a voice in her head murmured drolly. _Yes, wasn't it? _she tersely replied, cutting it off.

When she was feeling quite better, she glanced across the space at him and smiled ruefully. "You know, I fully intended to give you a good talking to when Smith brought me down."

He smiled in return. "I deserve one."

"Yes, but I-" she stopped abruptly and stared at him. "What?"

Draco looked away and shifted a bit in his seat. Now was definitely the time. He might not want to, but he had to talk to her about Harry and Barclay and sixth year, if he could get that far…he had to talk to her. And now was his chance. He looked back up to her and gestured to himself.

"I've been keeping Barclay away from Viola on purpose these last couple of weeks."

Hermione looked confused and hurt. "Why? Why would you do that? They're such good friends- she asks about him everyday…fortunately, she's got her cousins to distract her at the moment, but Draco!"

He held up a hand. "Please, let me explain. Just listen for a few minutes, that's all I ask." She closed her mouth and crossed her arms. He ran a hand over his hair uncomfortably and plunged ahead. "When Harry saved Barclay, there was a small transfer of magic. The healers say it's not uncommon in severe cases such as this- it can even happen when a mother is giving birth, I'm told- so it's not like a freak accident or anything. But, well, what it means is that for the next few years, possibly longer, there will be an imprint of residual magic on Barclay from Harry. It's even likely that the transfer is what awoke Barclay's dormant magic." He paused and watched Hermione. "You're following all this-"

"Of course I am!" she snapped. "I just vomited my breakfast up, not my brains!"

He smiled tightly at her and nodded. "Right, sorry. Anyhow, the unfortunate side effect seems to be that it's also caused a bond between Barclay and Harry's blood relatives…namely, Viola. His body isn't healed enough to handle the high level of energy she operates at yet, so I've been keeping him away so he can recover fully and handle the contact."

"But you're not trying to keep them apart forever?"

"No," Draco replied emphatically.

"But you're also not certain that Viola is what's been causing his spells," she asked.

"Right," he confirmed. "The only way to find out for sure is to have them both in for testing at the same time and I-"

"Didn't want to tell me?"

He looked at her sharply, but found no signs of malice in her expression. She smiled as reassuringly as she could.

"Draco, I understand. Did you think I wouldn't? It may be difficult to take it in right now, to think about it, but he's your son. You were concerned for him. You were worried that I would be angry with him for being the reason Harry's dead."

Draco was silent, watching Hermione for signs of anger, hurt, outrage. He saw none…only a drifting sadness that never settled on her face, only passed across it every few minutes like the current of a wave.

"There is every possibility Harry would have died down there in those tunnels, regardless of whether he saved Barclay or not. I know that. I don't like admitting it and I don't enjoy talking about it, but I can be honest about the situation. Enough to recognize that his death is not the fault of some innocent child. That child just happened to be your son. I can…" she took a deep breath and met his eyes. "I can accept that. I have to, or else I can't move on."

Draco returned her gaze steadily. "And if I can't accept it?"

"That's not your choice. Your son's life was saved. You only need to be grateful, Draco. Be sad that you lost a compatriot. Be sad for myself and Viola. But don't blame yourself. It's not your place." She sat back in her seat again and brought the handkerchief to her face once more. The pink had come back to her cheeks, but she was still feeling a little shaky. "Well," she murmured, "when do you want me to bring Vi in for testing? She'll readily agree to it if it means she gets to see Barclay. And I want to help…"

"I can call and make the appointment. I'll send an owl," he offered. Then he frowned. "Are you sure about this? We can just let Barclay recover on his own-"

She waved a hand to interrupt him. "Stop questioning my choices before I spell your mouth shut- I'm pregnant and grieving, so step carefully for once, you blasted nuisnace." She turned her head and glared at him suddenly. "And what's this about you taking on some of my workload? Those incident reports you've been updating are the business of my department."

He leaned back into his own seat and spread his hands. "You weren't here," he said, as if it explained everything.

Hermione stared at him and suddenly began to laugh. It was really too much, wasn't it? The man had just told her something that any normal mother and widow would probably be horrified to hear, but she had accepted it calmly, without fuss. Had even offered to _help_. But when it came to her job, oh, no. She couldn't just let it go that he had been doing her job while she'd been busy feeling sorry for herself. Another man doing her work? That was the thing she wouldn't stand for- never mind that her husband was dead, she was pregnant, and a mere twenty four hours after their spouses had died, sparks were flying between the two of them. She sat up and wiped her eyes with the handkerchief, still chuckling.

Draco eyed her strangely. "Need some more water?" he asked.

"Yes, please," she replied with feeling. After another few minutes had passed in an amiable, but awkward silence, she spoke again. "Thanks for picking up my share. I'll take over from here though, if you don't mind."

Draco snorted. "Be my guest- you can interview the crotchety bugger all you like for all I care. The codger. I just thought it might facilitate things for the trial George is trying to put together for the Gringotts mess."

"Oh, are they trying the goblins, then?" Hermione inquired politely.

"That's one way of putting it. Not that they don't deserve a fair trial," he hastily covered upon spying Hermione's face. She nodded in agreement and he continued. "They may need us as witnesses to the destruction, since we were in the ministry when an incident occurred."

Hermione blanched and quickly brought the handkerchief to her lips. "Must we?" she choked out.

Draco nodded and quickly performed another anti-nausea spell. "It won't be so bad, will it?"

Hermione shuddered a bit. "Will it ever- don't let my cool demeanor fool you, Draco- I'm afraid I'm a bit of a mess inside. I may be able to talk about things here, with you, calmly enough, but I'm nowhere near ready to get up in front of the Wizengamot and start rehashing things." She paused and looked up at him. "How soon do you think…"

"Another few weeks, I imagine." He paused and eyed her. "Er…if you didn't mind, I could help you prepare to go up for testimony."

Hermione glanced over at him and smiled. "Would you?"

"We'll be seeing each other more now that you're back at work anyway, won't we?"

"That's true. I'm only here half days this week, however. We'll see how far I get with convincing Vi to go back to school."

"She won't go yet?"

"Not without Barclay," Hermione remarked wryly. "It's not a problem _now_, as they are on school holiday for another week- I love these private schools. So nice that they get to pick their own schedule."

"Mmm," Draco responded. "Very useful for the parents."

"That's exactly how I feel!" Hermione replied. They looked at one another for a brief moment before falling to laughter.

Draco stood up after their laughter had returned to thoughtful expressions. "Feeling better?" he asked. She nodded and stood as well.

"You must tell me where you got those spells," she said, pausing in his doorway.

"I'll owl them." He stood at his desk, hands in his pockets, watching her leave. He seemed happy that they'd gotten along so well, but also a little forlorn. Hermione was suddenly struck by the urge to hug him, but managed to think better of it. She smiled at him with great warmth instead.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Draco. And…thank you," she murmured, before walking out the door. He raised a hand to her back in farewell.

Hermione felt only a little frustrated at the turn their conversation had taken. There would always be days, she supposed, where the thing that would do her up right was an all out row with Draco Malfoy. Today, however, had not been one of those days and she wasn't sure how she should feel about it. It was just that she'd gotten ill so quickly and he'd been so kind about it…and it was nice to have a man looking after her every now and then. As attentive and caring and generous as Harry had always been, once he'd become an auror there hadn't been nearly as much time for pampering Hermione. Not that she'd minded, exactly. Still…Draco was so thoughtful. When had he gotten to be so mature and gallant?

Hermione shook her head and decided it didn't matter. For now, she had work to do and idle hands would neither bring in a paycheck to pay for that nice, private school of Vi's _or _help her move on from thoughts of a husband she would never see again. So, with a little trepidation, she made her way towards her own department. She hadn't been in George's office since that day of the splinching, but her own office was still familiar enough. She would start there, as she had earlier that week, and see where things took her.

A small, unvoiced part of her hoped that they would lead her straight back to the head of Muggle Relations.

* * *

**AN: I am feeling very smug at the moment. Bet none of you were expecting another update so quickly, were you? (Urgh, my professors are going to kill me.)**


	41. Discovery

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

**  
**_Whoso loves, believes the impossible._

_-Elizabeth Barrett Browning_

* * *

Hermione ignored the stares of the other witches and wizards in her department and made straight for her office. It was located off the wall adjacent to George's and was just a little smaller than his. She had considered not moving at all, but all of the pertinent files for a department head were already in his office; and she didn't relish the thought of moving several heavy filing cabinets, regardless of shrinking spells. One wizard caught her eye and she looked over as she opened the door of her office.

"Hooper? What are you doing here right now? Aren't you supposed to be working with George right now on the trial?"

Hooper smiled sheepishly. "Well, yes, but he said he thought you were supposed to come in today and I thought I'd better come down and show you what we did before you discovered for yourself."

"I was just in two days ago…what's happened?"

Hooper's face turned pink. "Mr. Weasley- the vice minister- he told us to go ahead and move your things for you. Since he moved into his new office just yesterday…"

Hermione's hand stopped turning the door knob and rested there. "Oh," she murmured. _Don't get upset, don't be angry_, she told herself. It wasn't Hooper's fault- he was the eager-to-please assistant to a T. And George was just trying to help out, like Draco was with the incident reports…they were all just trying to help out. Besides, she'd been under enough stress in the last month to do permanent damage to the baby. If she could avoid any more confrontations, it was for the best.

She took a deep breath, willed her body to stop trembling and turned around, pasting a small smile on her face. "Alright then, I'll just skip this one, shall I? You didn't have the spells changed or anything, did you?"

"Oh, no, Ms. Potter. We didn't really unpack, either. We didn't want to go through all your things," he added.

She smiled a little more broadly. As if they hadn't already gone through her things when they packed them up. But then, perhaps he meant…

"Hooper, do you mean to say you just picked things up and stuffed them into boxes without looking?"

Hooper's face turned colors from pink to red. "Er…I can stay and help you sort, if you like? And I'll pay for any damages-"

She cut him off and patted his shoulder. "No," she said with some finality. "_Don't _worry about it. Now, you'd better get back to George, though I expect to see you putting in at least the afternoon down here."

He nodded and smiled in return before starting back towards the exit. Hermione looked after him, a small crease between her brows indicating her concern over the state of her office. She walked towards the door that, sure enough, now boasted her name in gold letters, and gingerly turned the handle. She wasn't sure if she should expect an explosion of boxes or what, but when nothing happened she walked all the way inside and flicked the lights on.

There was an assortment of boxes scattered about the floor and on the desk before her. The office seemed brighter than she remembered it being that time before and she shivered a little with the memory. Well, she'd told herself she would devote today to moving offices. If she got started on the boxes right away, she might even be able to get to some real work before she left for the flat.

Looking at the boxes on the floor, Hermione drew out her wand and levitated one to a small shelf in the corner next to a captain's chair. Taking a seat, she shrugged out of her robes and left them draped over the back of the chair. It was quite warm enough in the bare office, wasn't it? She began rifling through the box and discovered some files and picture frames tossed in together. Snorting, Hermione waved her wand a few times and some of the pictures immediately affixed themselves to the walls while the papers flew over to a desk draw and filed themselves. She looked at the other pictures- she'd put a few of those with herself and her family up, but others- like an old school photo of Harry and Ron- she decided to keep in the box for now. Perhaps it would be better to keep poignant reminders such as that at home instead of in an office where she needed to stay calm and reasonable.

Things that she once would never have given a second thought to now made her tread carefully. Her mind was fragile right now, though strong and healing, and she knew the grieving process well enough to know that it would likely take years before she could gaze at a photo like that again without tearing up just a little. She'd only put up the school photo two years ago and that had placed it at least eight years after Ron's death. She put the box back on the floor next to her and determined to fill it with things she no longer wanted in her office. Then she waved the next one over to the side shelf.

Several boxes later and she had most of her filing done and the office was beginning to look a little more cozy, with a tea service on a small corner table; the hand woven baskets on her desk designated as _in _and _out_; her favorite reference books lined the small book shelf; a Molly Weasley knit throw lay across her desk chair; and useful things like stress balls littered the tops of her filing cabinets. There were framed photos along one wall and she could even look at most of them without automatically bursting into tears.

Though she didn't look at them for very long.

She took a moment to review the office and wondered briefly what Harry's reaction to the promotion would have been. He probably would have been very proud of her, but possibly also a little upset as more responsibility generally meant longer hours…and longer hours always meant less time with her daughter. Hermione sighed and rolled her shoulders back a bit. Well, it wasn't as if Harry's schedule had been any better. So she decided to focus on the fact that he'd have been happy and leave it at that.

Eyeing the empty boxes, she waved her wand again and spelled them down, folding them over themselves until she could fit them in her pocket. Then she placed them in a desk drawer and finally stood up., stretching. The clock on her wall struck ten and she glanced at it, surprised. Was it really still that early? If she left now, she would be able to get a few things done at the flat…or she could cop out and stay in the office, working.

Shaking her head at her own cowardice, Hermione walked around to the desk and picked up the throw she had tossed over the seat. She looked down at the files that already sat in her _in _basket, begging to be looked at and shook out the throw as she perused the names at the tops of the folders. A rustling caught her ear suddenly and she looked down, puzzled. The Ministry hadn't had problems with mice in quite a while- what was that noise?

She saw an envelope lying on the chair and realized it must have been hidden in the throw- she'd never really used the throw, so it had spent most of its time squashed at the back of the cabinets in her old office. It was no surprise that a paper or two had been lost in its folds. She bent over and picked up the stray letter, ready to send it to whichever file it belonged, but she found her movements halted abruptly. A prickling sensation touched the back of her neck as she examined the lost letter.

It was from Pansy.

The throw slipped from Hermione's hands and for a moment she swayed dangerously before she sat down hard in her desk chair. Turning the envelope about in her hands, she looked for the date and realized, with some relief, that it was dated five years ago. Hermione let out her breath in a grateful gasp and leaned back in her chair. For a moment she'd thought…but no, it was nothing of the kind. Now that she was over her initial shock, she felt a little curious. What on earth was Pansy doing sending her a personal letter?

She examined the envelope again and realized that Pansy must not have known her home address at the time, so she'd simply sent it to her office at the Ministry. Hermione smiled ruefully and used the tip of her wand to slit the envelope. Had she truly never read it? She tried to think back to what had been going on with her at the time she would've received the letter. She'd been married to Harry a year already and she'd found out she was expecting…been several months along by then, certainly. So Draco would've been doing his creepy staring thing at the time…and there'd been a coup over them getting Dearborn in as the new minister, not to mention that was about the time the snafu with a neo-Death Eaters group had gone on. So she'd been busy and thoroughly annoyed with Draco Malfoy. Never mind that she and Pansy had _never_ gotten on. Ever. So it wasn't likely that she would've bothered to read a personal letter from the woman.

She supposed she should feel a little bad about ignoring it, but honestly, what could Pansy have had to say to her that she didn't shout all those years ago? Even now, Hermione wondered that she was bothering to read it at all. Still, she was lifting the flap and pulling the single sheet of parchment from its yellowed home, curiosity nagging at her like Crookshanks.

Eyes wide and breath suspended, Hermione began reading.

_Ms. Granger, _it began_, _

_I debated how to begin this and believe my choice to be appropriate. You may be married to Harry Potter, but I will always remember you as the know-it-all you were in school. The obnoxious witch that broke my husband's heart. _

_I thought you should know that he still cares for you. I don't suppose he will ever stop caring for you, much to my chagrin, but seeing as how you're both married to different people, well. There's nothing to be done for it at the moment. I also know that someday neither of you will care to be doing nothing about it and you'll come crashing together again like you did six years ago. I know you think you're happy now, that nothing will ever change that, but things do happen. Life happens._

_I'm not giving you my blessing or any such nonsense. In fact, if you take a step near my husband while I'm alive I'm likely to hex you like I wanted to all those years ago. It's just that he's gotten a little more dodgy about the amount of time he spends in his study and office versus the amount of time he's spending with me these days and I know it must have something to do with you. _

Hermione nodded as she read, remembering all the stares he'd been giving her because he'd found out about the pregnancy. She chewed at her lip a bit, wondering if she should continue. Did she really want to finish reading? Or did she owe it to the dead woman to hear her out for once? Shivering lightly, she pulled the discarded throw up over her shoulders and turned back to the page before her.

_So, to try and stave off the inevitable,_ Pansy continued_, I went through his things and found these. He doesn't need them anymore. He may think he does, but I'm his wife and you're married to another man. It's indecent. Take them, keep them, throw them away. I don't care. I knew when I married him he cared for you and I suspect he always will._

_Just be decent and wait until after I'm dead. Don't think it morbid of me- it might be a little, but it's only fair to tell you everything. I don't have the strongest of bodies. I'm not the most brilliant witch, like you are. I know I will die before he does. Those pictures were taken at the Halloween Ball Sixth Year. There was a divination booth at the carnival promising love fortunes. I've always known I would marry Draco, but I also always knew you would enter his life again, you see?_

_Take them. They're all you get to keep of him right now. I feel bound to tell you, if you care for him as much as he still cares for you, I think you are being extremely unfair to Potter._

_With Honesty,_

_Pansy Malfoy_

Feeling her breath catch in her throat, she leaned back for a moment. She knew exactly what Pansy was talking about- hadn't she had a similar, eerie experience in that self same booth? There had been that moment where Harry's face had shimmered in the mirror's surface, just out of reach, before Draco's had materialized- solid, clear and full of life. But what pictures was she talking about, unless…?

Hermione sat forward in her seat as she reached her hand back into the envelope, hardly daring to look at her prize. She drew the small strip of photos from the sheath slowly and turned them over, gazing at them.

Sure enough, there she and Draco sat in that photo booth eleven years ago, still smiling, staring deep into one another's eyes, and kissing each other like there would be no tomorrow. His blond hair flopping into his eyes and across her forehead, her curly locks frizzing up and hiding their faces as they locked lips only as passionate teenagers can. And was she really twining her arms about his neck that way? Had he truly held her so tightly?

Hermione felt a pang of remembrance and barely managed to stop the large, wrenching sob that rose from her gut. Instead, she rose from the chair and reached for her robes.

She suddenly had a desperate need to compare the pictures- she knew exactly where those of herself and Harry were- matted and framed on a bedroom shelf, a memento from their Hogwarts years. She had to see them, to look at both sets of photos side by side.

She had to know if she had been as desperately in love with Harry back then as she had been with Draco. It seemed impossible to fathom just then, but the look in her picture-self's eyes also made it impossible to doubt.

* * *

**AN: This is the only thing saving my sanity at the moment. At least I know fake characters based on someone else's fake characters will be happy someday! *sobs in a corner* Enjoy!**


	42. Some Advice

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it._

_-W. M. Lewis_

* * *

It was only once she was on the bus that she wondered if she had remembered to turn off the lights in her office and if she had closed the door or not. And had she packed any paperwork in her bag? After a few minutes of rifling through her work satchel, she decided it didn't matter much- it wasn't as if she was going to be getting a lot done today anyhow. Why, after she was back at The Burrow she'd only have a few hours until she needed to be back into the city for a check-up at Mungo's. Ginny was going to meet her at the hospital after Quidditch practice.

She turned towards the window, angling her back to the man seated next to her, and pulled the pictures from her pocket once again. No- no change. They were the same as ever. Looking at the strip a little more closely, she could see the edges were coming apart just a little- bent and smudged, as if someone had held them a great deal just as she was right now. She shivered again and tucked them away, anxiously wishing the bus would go a little faster. Had rush hour extended itself to mid-morning? Wasn't anybody going into work at a reasonable hour anymore?

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the bus let her off on her familiar corner and she walked the half block up to her building. Smiling peripherally at the doorman, she entered the complex and made for the elevators. After another several minutes of waiting, getting on and waiting some more, the doors finally pinged open and she fairly dashed the rest of the way down the hall to the door of her flat. The locks didn't seem to come open nearly as fast as she was undoing them, which might have had something to do with her being unable to keep a tight hold of her wand, but eventually she turned the handle and the door swung open. Then she was dropping all her things just inside in her haste to make it to the bedroom.

She stopped quite suddenly in the doorway, squinting as the sun fell through the tall windows of the master suite. Hadn't she remembered to draw the drapes the other week before she left? Oh, perhaps not. She hadn't gotten much at all done before she'd had to leave…

The painful catch in her heart grew even more insistent as she paused in her task, fingering the pictures hidden away in her pocket. There was no time for dallying, it seemed to say. Life was going to begin moving on without her very soon if she didn't make a decision.

Life might move on regardless what the decision was- even if she said that yes, she did want to move on and heal and yes, she thought Draco could be that man, well. She'd still need more time, wouldn't she? It wasn't that simple, was it?

Walking over to the bookshelf on which the photos of herself and Harry resided, she pulled the other strip from her pocket and then picked up the frame. She held them side by side watching closely as both boys kissed her- and she kissed them back.

But where the look in her eyes with Draco was passionate, awed and perhaps a little sad, the look she gave Harry was flattered, curious and confused.

Whom had she loved first? Which boy should she have chosen all those years ago? If she had chosen Draco instead, would Harry have been spared this death?

She shook her head and clutched the pictures to her chest. No, she couldn't do that to herself. She mustn't play those games. What if? What if? Her knees unable to hold her up any longer, she found herself sinking to the floor beside the shelf. Tears were falling down her cheeks freely and she felt the uncontrollable sobs from just a few weeks ago starting all over again.

She _had _to choose Harry all those years ago. She hadn't had a choice in the matter- he'd needed them, his friends, behind him so desperately back then…and if she'd chosen Draco she never would've been friends with Harry ever again. Would that have saved him? What of all the help she gave him during their hunt for the Horcruxes? What of the help she'd given in the final battle? No, he'd needed her. He always would have needed her and she'd known it at the time. She'd realized that. It was why she'd turned Draco down in the first place- that and he was a selfish git with bad principles. She and Harry had needed one another far more.

There was no avoiding the path she'd been set on Sixth Year. No way out.

And now her husband was dead and the world was safe once again and she had no idea what to do about any of it.

In lieu of that information, she lay down upon the floor of the bedroom and sobbed until she was too exhausted to move. It was suddenly the only thing she felt she could do. Then she fell into a heavy sleep, the pictures still clutched to her chest.

* * *

Ginny found her hours later. She'd come straight to the flat when she'd gone to the hospital only to find that Hermione hadn't shown up. Well, she'd actually called George first, but he'd had nothing useful to tell her, so she'd immediately gone back out on the street and hailed a cab.

She was a little annoyed, as she'd had an appointment right after Hermione's; but when she walked into the Potter's flat and found Hermione curled up in a senseless ball on the floor, the frustration had vanished.

With a great many shushing noises, she'd woken her friend up and managed to get her into a hot shower, but not before she'd wrenched the pictures away from her. She didn't bother to examine them until Hermione was safely enveloped in hot steam and scented soap suds. It was only as she was wordlessly folding Hermione's clothes that she flipped the pictures around and took a proper look at them.

_Oh_. Suddenly, everything made sense. She remembered clearly that conversation they'd had on a frosty bench in the gardens one evening in late November. Her friends' sixth year…that had been a rough one. She also remembered Hermione showing her the pictures of Harry, but she couldn't recall ever seeing the ones of Draco. She'd known something had happened with him that night at the carnival, as Hermione had told her nearly everything once they'd made up, but…

It was easy to see why her friend was in such a sorry state just then. She was rediscovering feelings for Draco and it was making it hard to deal with Harry's passing. She was probably ready to blame herself, no doubt. Ginny frowned and put the pictures down. Well. There was only one thing to do about this. She had to help Hermione somehow. So, still holding the photos, she walked back to the bathroom.

"Hermione?" she called and pushed the door open further. The other witch was still huddled at the bottom of the shower stall, curled up with the soap suds still covering her hair. She hadn't moved. Ginny sighed and squatted down so her friend could see her through the glass. She held up the photos.

"I'm taking these," she said firmly. Hermione looked at her, blinking rapidly as though she'd gotten soap in her eyes. _Serves her right for being such a ninny, _Ginny thought, then screwed her mouth into a frown. Ninny or not, Hermione was dealing with an awful lot at the moment. Still, the other woman didn't give any sign of protest.

"You just don't need these around right now. I'll bring them back eventually, alright?" she added as an explanation before standing back up. "Now hurry and wash yourself or else I'm coming in there to pull you out. Mum is worried about you, we've missed our appointments and Viola is sulking back at home."

Hermione gave a guilty start and, after running a hand over her face for one very long moment, stood up to begin rinsing off. Ginny nodded and left the bathroom. Might as well pretend to give her some privacy, after all.

Hermione exited a few minutes later, hair spelled dry and body wrapped in a towel. She looked at Ginny, who pointed to some clothes she'd laid out for her. After Hermione had dressed, she joined Ginny in sitting on the edge of the bed. Her friend handed her a mug of hot tea. She sipped at it carefully.

"Do you want to pack tonight or would you rather go back to The Burrow? I could always go and bring Vi and some dinner back." When Hermione didn't answer, Ginny sighed again and began rubbing her back. "We both need to eat, you need to see your daughter and what you really need," she continued, "is to start packing."

Hermione closed her eyes and felt her shoulders sink in resignation. "I know," she replied softly. "Ginny, do you think it awful of me?"

"Do I think what- oh. No, Hermione. I don't think it's awful, if you're talking about Malfoy. I never really thought it was awful, but I understood your reasons."

"But Harry-"

"Is gone. He's never coming back. That _is_ awful in itself, but you can't change it. Not getting to know Draco again isn't going to change it. That doesn't mean you won't still grieve, though. Just because you might fall in love again- or discover you never really fell _out _of love- doesn't change the fact that he will always be a part of your life. It won't heal the wounds, so stop thinking you're betraying Harry in some great fashion. You aren't."

Hermione shuddered and brought a hand to her eyes again. "I just don't know what to _do_."

Ginny shifted closer and put her arms about the other witch. "Who says you have to do anything right now? Things will happen of their own accord. Just rest for now, focus on getting back to work, taking care of your children. It will get better in its own time. Knowing Malfoy, that time will be rather short, too," she added, trying to coax a smile from the woman.

Hermione leant into the embrace and nodded. "That would've been true years ago, but now…Ginny, I've already lost Harry. I'm-" she paused, unsure of how to word things.

"Afraid of losing Malfoy, too, if you wait too long," Ginny finished for her. "Oh, Hermione, he's crazy about you. That will never happen. And I'd wager he needs a little time to heal as well. Like I said, just take things slowly for a little longer and see what happens- you need time to wrap your mind around all this."

"How much time?" Hermione whispered.

"I don't know," Ginny replied honestly. "But don't rush yourself. You _could_ always write him a note, just to be sure," she added, waggling her eyebrows. "_Do you like me? Check yes or no._"

Hermione found herself giggling along with the other witch and had to set the mug of tea down to keep it from spilling. "Oh, Gin," she laughed. "Don't even think about it!"

"Are you sure? I could drop him a line for you-"

"No!"

After a few more minutes of silliness, Ginny stood up. "Well, what do you say? Want to pack tonight or come back tomorrow?"

Hermione glanced about her and then up at her very good and dear friend. "I'd love some help tonight, if you can spare it. And I'm sorry about the appointments."

Ginny waved her apology away. "Don't worry, please. Mum does that enough for the both of us. Why don't _you_ go get Vi and dinner and we'll the three of us have a sleepover tonight?"

Hermione nodded, smiling gratefully as she grabbed her coat and keys. "I'll just be a few. Thanks, Gin." Then she was out the door to go find an appropriate apparation point.

Ginny looked after her, waving and smiling in return. It looked like things might be alright, after all. Now if only she could get Hermione to that support group. Shrugging, she closed the door when she could no longer see her friend and then settled down in one of the living room chairs to await her return. Pulling out a bit of parchment, she began to make a list of things Hermione would likely need to go through.

The first thing on the list: _photos_.

* * *

Just before he left for the day, Draco wandered over to Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. He'd made a tentative appointment for a few days from then with Barclay's healer. If Hermione was serious about helping out and having Viola come in for testing, it could mean the difference in recovery times for his son…though Barclay wasn't doing so bad, all things considered. He'd debated just sending an owl to her flat, but then realized he wasn't sure if she was staying there or not. And if he was going to be sending a memo to her office, why not walk it over there personally? She hadn't seemed adverse to seeing him again, or even spending time with him (if it was work or children related, but he chose to ignore that part). That in itself had been enough to put a smile on his face the rest of the day.

So, though he wasn't certain if she'd still be around, he figured a hand delivered note might be a good step towards mending things. When he entered the department, he could see that most of the workers were packing up for the day, with the exception of Hooper and a few others. He nodded to the young man and waved.

"Mr. Malfoy!" the other wizard exclaimed. "How, er, nice to see you. Can I help you?"

"Just giving your boss a message- is she in?"

Hooper glanced back towards the door to her office and shrugged. "The light's still on, but I haven't seen her for a few hours at least- the door is open, though. You could probably leave it on her desk," he offered.

Draco nodded again and thanked him before starting for the open door. He paused in the doorway and surveyed the space- it looked like she was gone for the day. No robes, no briefcase…she'd left a small mess near her desk, though. There was a throw hanging off the desk chair onto the floor and a few pieces of paper littered the desktop.

He shrugged and stepped forward. When no alarms went off, he moved inside and deposited the message on top of the files in her _in _basket. Smiling a little to himself, he picked the throw up and folded it over itself before laying it neatly over the back of the chair. He wouldn't normally expect to see anything out of place in her office, but he supposed it was to be expected at a time like this- she had a lot going on, a lot that she was trying to catch up with. It was a good thing he'd offered to help her prepare for the trial or else she probably never would have been ready at this rate.

He had just turned away from the chair when the papers on the desk caught his eye. He was hesitant to touch them, unsure if it was something important she meant to look at in the morning; but the way they were lying there, as if they'd just been tossed away in a hurry…and it did just look like a letter…

Suddenly, his shoulders stiffened as the name on the envelope caught his eye.

_Pansy?_ What on earth was Hermione doing with a letter from Pansy?

Before he could stop himself, the letter was in his hand and he was reading the words outlined in his dead wife's perfect penmanship.

* * *

**AN: That's what you get for reading my mind- a cliffhanger! Muahahahaha!**


	43. One by One

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the HP franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction._

_-Antoine de Saint-Exupery_

* * *

He should've known. He should've _known. _He began to crumple the piece of parchment in his hand, realized absently what he was doing, and smoothed it out again, placing it back where he'd found it.

It lay there on her desktop, mocking him.

Of course Pansy would have sent those photos away- he'd known immediately what she was referring to in the letter. After all, hadn't he turned their town home upside down searching for them, thinking he'd lost them when they first went missing? He'd been unable- or unwilling- to tell Pansy what he was looking for, but one could tell by looking at her that she already knew. She'd stood quietly in the doorway of his study as he'd pulled out desk drawers and emptied them out, half frantic with the thought of never seeing Hermione's face smiling at him again…kissing him. The smile on his wife's own face had been secretively smug and it hadn't taken much longer for him to guess what had happened. She'd found them, perhaps even known about them all along, and taken them away. Hidden them somewhere. But where?

Now he knew. Pansy was too smart to leave them in their house. Of course she'd mailed them off somewhere. He'd once even suspected she'd taken them to Ornella's…but _now_…

He should've known.

And seeing as how the photos were no longer with the letter, that meant Hermione had them now. Draco worried the inside of his mouth, unsure what to do about it. His hand hovered over the note he'd just left her, ready to take it with him. There was no need for her to know he'd been here-

He stopped that line of thought short, shaking his head a little. What were they, twelve? No, they were both adults with lives of their own. He shouldn't have to hide from her, no matter how much he felt like it. No matter how humiliating it was for him that she now knew how far his obsession had extended. Then again, he'd told her all those years ago that he would never stop caring for her. He'd held onto his feelings for her fiercely- they were one of his few happy memories from Sixth Year. And what of her?

There was no evidence she'd held onto her feelings- for she'd certainly had them at the time, that much he knew. Not that he blamed her for letting go. For _wanting _to let go. He'd been all the things she'd called him back then: proud, selfish, bigoted. But he was different now- he'd changed the way she'd wanted…without her, of his own free will. And the things she'd said three weeks ago, in his study? She was equally right about those, but he couldn't help loving her. He supposed he would until he died.

Shaking his head again, he decided to leave the note where it was. He wouldn't tell her he'd read Pansy's letter unless she brought it up. Then they could talk about it like the sad adults they were: grieving, but inextricably drawn to one another. For whether she still loved him or not, or even if she'd only buried her feelings all those years ago, one thing he knew: the look in her eyes when she gazed at him now was not unkind. And that was enough for him to hope.

It was enough.

* * *

Ginny was up before either Hermione or Viola the next morning. She needed to make sure she had enough time to help out at the flat a little more before she returned to her own home in order to get her Quidditch gear. She wandered over to the kitchen area and began boiling water for tea, hoping the sound of a whistling kettle would get her friend up. She'd left Hermione and Viola in the master bedroom, still snoozing away as the morning sun crested the tops of the neighboring buildings.

They'd shared the bed last night, as none of them particularly took up too much space and the bed was about three times larger than it probably needed to be. Ginny wondered absently if Hermione would keep it or trade in for a smaller one for the next year or so…if she lasted that long.

She didn't really expect her friend to remain single for very long. Oh, she was sure Hermione would make a valiant effort to put in a decent mourning period, but there was only so much a witch could do when faced with the all-consuming love of a dashing wizard.

Draco Malfoy definitely fell into that category.

The kettle began going and she lifted it from the burner, pouring the scalding water into two mugs. She looked out over the living area as she continued to fix breakfast, eyeing their handy work from last night. There were a total of five boxes, taped shut and labeled appropriately. Three were for delivery to the salvation army, one rather large one was to keep in storage and the fifth…Ginny and Hermione had put their heads together on that one last night.

"Can you imagine what some people would pay to get their hands on a pair of Harry's drawers?" Ginny asked as she folded and put away yet another piece of clothing. She and Hermione had been discussing the annual holiday benefit the ministry would be having in another few months and the ridiculous items that often came up for auction. One year someone claimed to be selling a washrag used by Mad-Eye Moody. No one in the audience had bothered to point out that the likelihood Mad-Eye had even owned a washcloth was nil.

Hermione had gone silent, a strange look on her face. Ginny had tried to cover up her remark with a laugh, but her friend had shushed her.

"No, no- you've made me think, Gin."

"Brilliant," Ginny had snorted.

"No, it's not like that- I mean, it is sort of distasteful, the thought of selling Harry's things, but suppose I did? Contribute a few things?"

Ginny had stared at Hermione, surprised. "You can't be serious."

"Why not? It's all for charity. It's not like I'm keeping the money. And I would get to select the charity…Harry would be pleased, I think. I wouldn't even have to get rid of everything this year, either…I could keep a box of things and bring a few items out every year. I bet we could even set up a trust for the charities of his choice…"

Looking at the box now, Ginny could see the wisdom in Hermione's thinking. It would be a far more fitting memorial to the wizard and a better way to keep him alive. A donation every year, "In Memory of Harry Potter." Hermione had promised to contact her attorney as soon as she got to work about setting things up. She'd even agreed with Ginny when she'd suggested selling everything she wanted to this year and then setting up a trust with part of the money.

Once they'd agreed with one another, the packing had gone more swiftly. It seemed to help Hermione to speak about things calmly- reasonably. She only hoped today continued her winning streak of the night before. If they had a repeat performance of yesterday afternoon _never_, it would suit her just fine.

She heard a shuffling noise to her left and looked over. Hermione was emerging from the hallway, running one hand through her tousled curls. Viola must still be sleeping- no surprise there. The older witch still looked a little tired, but more refreshed this morning. Ginny waved a hand and pushed the other mug forward.

"Tea," she offered before turning back to the eggs she was scrambling.

Hermione took the mug gladly and smiled. "Thank you, Ginny."

Placing a plate of toast before her friend, Ginny shrugged. "What are friends for?"

* * *

Hermione wasn't too surprised to see her office door shut that morning, though she still couldn't remember if she'd closed it yesterday. Hooper or one of her other workers had probably closed it for her, in that case. It didn't matter much- she hadn't left loads of important documents behind or anything, but she really would need to be more careful in the future, especially as head of the department.

She rushed through the space on her way to her office, barely pausing to greet people. She was running a little late because she'd had a hard time getting Viola up and moving. The girl had wondered at first if she was going back to school and when told no, she'd promptly gone back to sleep. If Ginny hadn't been there to help out that morning…she'd finally gotten her daughter up and dressed, run her to The Burrow, made her apologies to Molly, been stuffed with a _second _breakfast, and here she was at the Ministry.

Ready to gag.

She shut the door of her office as soon as she was inside and reached for her waste basket. As she hunched over it, willing her stomach to digest the food, not reject it, she let her thoughts wander. Mainly they went along the lines of, _Viola was never this temperamental. What kind of child am I carrying this time? A picky eater? Merlin, I can't wait until this one is over-_ and up came her second breakfast, followed by the first. The tea she managed to keep down.

As she spelled the waste bin clean and checked herself for accidents, she noticed the letter from Pansy still sitting on her desk, lying open for half the world to see. She cringed and tucked the letter back in its envelope, then sent it into the back of her top desk drawer. She hoped she wouldn't have cause to read it for some time. _She was Draco's wife. Are you going to show it to him?_

_No. That's ridiculous. It was a personal letter, _she replied to herself. Still, a small crease appeared between her brows. The pictures had been his, after all…hadn't they? _They really belonged to both of us_, she told herself. _There's no reason I shouldn't keep these things to myself for now. _Besides, Ginny had the photos now- what she was planning on doing with them, Hermione didn't know. She wasn't quite sure she cared, either, but to be on the safe side she left the letter within reach, instead of shoving it all the way to the back of the drawer. Perhaps there would be an appropriate time in the future for her to give it to Draco. That time was not now.

Now, she needed to reschedule her prenatal appointment, go through several files that were slowly turning red due to inattention, file the appropriate paperwork with both the ministry and her attorney about the benefit auction, and find time to meet with Draco about trial preparation. Never mind remembering to go to the stores for supplies- she'd had to promise Molly full baby-sitting privileges, but she and Vi were moving back into the flat full time after today. So there was that responsibility, too. Her day was full and it wasn't even nine in the morning. She supposed that was what a promotion, weeks of missed work and single parentage did to one.

Settling into her desk chair, she decided to begin with the filing and paperwork. As she reached for the topmost file in her stack, she noticed a memo stuck to the cover. Setting the file on her desk, she plucked the paper from the folder and held it up. It was from _Draco_.

Hermione's heart began to go far faster than was good for it. It was only a message about that appointment she'd promised to take Viola to, but…it didn't bear the signs of having been sent in the conventional manner. He hadn't routed it through their interdepartmental memo system. Which meant, of course, that it had been brought by hand.

Draco was the only person who would deliver a message from _himself _by hand. Unless he'd sent Smith…no. No, this was most certainly from Draco, which also meant that he'd been inside her office yesterday. Standing, she went to the door, opened it and leaned out.

"Hello, Princzak?" she called. The young aide turned around. "Has anyone come by my office since I left yesterday?" she continued.

The young witch nodded. "Yes, Madam. Mr. Malfoy, I believe? Had a message for you- Mr. Hooper waved him in," she finished, smiling politely.

Hermione stifled a grin at the _mister_ before Hooper's name and nodded, thanking the woman. Then she stepped back inside, closing the door once more. She stood in front of her desk for a few moments, debating what to do. So Draco had been in her office and had probably seen the letter from Pansy…but he hadn't done anything about it. He hadn't come to her flat and hounded her, or sent her any owls, so what was the problem? Was he upset? Did he maybe think she had been keeping the letter from him all these years? Was he blaming himself? Should she go speak to him about it first? Would he even want to see her about the trial now? And what about the appointment?

She stopped herself and took a very deep breath, leaning over the desk for support. No, this was the same as yesterday. There was no point in playing these games. Either he cared and would say something, or he wouldn't. The letter wasn't what mattered the most right now. What mattered was making sure their children were happy, healthy, and could continue to have a friendly relationship with one another. So that scratched her wild theory about the appointment- of course he would prefer to keep it. Picking up her quill, she quickly scrawled the appointment onto her calendar. There. That would do, for now. As for the rest of her out of control concerns and emotions, devil take them. She had more important things to do than sulk about a letter from a dead woman shehadn't particularly liked. So, seeing how Draco hadn't come storming into her office yet, she sat back down and resolved to get some work done, for once.

The weights of the last four weeks had slowly begun to lift themselves from her shoulders, one by one. She suspected it had a great deal to do with the women of the Weasley family, although the clouds cleared a little more with every thought of a very particular, willowy, and pale skinned wizard.

Had he _truly _loved her all those years? She knew that the less she thought on it, the more work she would get done, but…the more she thought on it, the less she doubted he had really _changed_- exactly how she'd imagined.

Smiling softly to herself as she picked up the next file and sent the first into her _out _basket, she realized he wasn't going to come storming into her office that day- or the next, either. They were both, for once, going to be mature about things. The very fact that he'd left the letter where it was, but left the memo too- without trying to contact her last night _or _this morning- meant he would wait for her to talk to him and if she never did, he would let it go (she hoped). Surely that was a sign they cared for one another in ways Hermione couldn't begin to fathom. Surely, it was.

A few seconds later, a quiet hum issued from her lips and one by one, the files in her _out _basket began to pile up, despite the drift of her thoughts.

* * *

**AN: Fewer confrontations- though there will still be one or two (maybe)- because I'm trying to get them together now. :) Soon, I promise.**


	44. Considerations

**Disclaimer: I own no part of HP; all characters and ideas belong to J.K.!**

* * *

_Come on in, and try not to ruin everything by being you._

_-As Good As It Gets_

* * *

Two nights later, Hermione was sitting in her living room with a photo album on her lap. It was one of pictures taken during the Triwizard Tournament, Fourth Year. Some she'd taken, others had been gifts from Colin Creevey. There were even a few the twins had taken. Most of those from early on were of just her and Harry, or Harry doing something ridiculous by himself. That was before Ron had stopped being a git. She smiled to herself as she turned the pages. Ginny had been right; it wasn't as hard to look at these old albums as she'd thought. In fact, it was almost pleasant…_almost_. She ran a hand across one of the pages, tracing Harry's grinning face with her finger tip. He ducked his head shyly from the camera twice before finally grinning and waving.

There was a movement to her left and Hermione looked over to find Viola standing in front of the couch, watching her. The little girl put her head to one side.

"What are you looking at, Mummy?" she asked. Hermione smiled at her and patted her lap.

"Pictures. Want to look with me?"

Viola nodded and quickly crawled up onto the couch and settled herself onto Hermione's lap. Hermione smiled a little, knowing that in another few months it would be harder for her little girl to sit on her lap that way. Propping the album up so they could both see it, she brushed Vi's hair back from her face. Now would be a good time to tell her. They were newly settled back home, she had her daughter's promise to start back to school after the weekend, and things were going well both at work and with Molly baby-sitting. She didn't know when she'd feel more prepared, if not today.

"Viola, I have something important to tell you," she murmured. Her daughter twisted about in her lap and stared up at her.

"What is it? You're not going again, are you?"

At the frightened look on Viola's face, Hermione smiled reassuringly and hugged her. "No, darling. This is about our family, though…you are going to have a little brother or sister, love."

Viola looked at her, puzzled. "But Mummy, Barclay is _older _than me."

At that, Hermione's face turned a bright pink and she buried it in Viola's hair, stifling a slightly hysterical laugh. Oh, _lord_. So that was what her daughter thought. Well, she couldn't say it would never be true, but now was certainly not the time to laugh at Viola's ideas. She pulled back and continued to stroke Viola's hair.

"No, darling- that's not what I mean. I mean, I'm going to have a baby. _Your _little brother or sister. From Daddy."

Viola smiled, though she still looked a little confused. "Are you happy about it, Mummy?"

Hermione nodded and hugged her girl more tightly. "Yes, love. I'm so happy about it now. I wasn't sure at first, but it will be lovely. It really will."

Viola seemed to make up her mind and nodded in reply before hugging her mother back. "Then _I'm_ happy, too," she responded brightly.

"Thank you, Vi," Hermione whispered before Viola turned back around. Putting her small hands on he album cover, she gave it a tug.

"Show me the pictures, Mummy," she asked and Hermione smiled before opening the book wide again and pointing to a large photo of the once golden trio. She drew in a deep breath before looking down at her daughter, in whose face Harry's eyes stared back out at her, wide and wondering.

"Now, darling, can you guess who that is?"

* * *

The next day found mother and daughter at St. Mungo's, sitting nervously in a waiting room as the healer in charge prepared the test room for the two children. Draco was waiting with Barclay just on the other side of the door in front of them. It was essential to the experiment, said the healer, that the children not see one another until they were ready for the test. So when Hermione finally took Viola into the room, a curtain blocked the view of the other side, where Barclay was presumably situated with his father.

Viola squeezed her mother's hand tightly even as she looked at the curtain curiously. Hermione had tried to talk to her daughter about what was happening, to explain things as best she could, but the girl hadn't been able to understand everything. Hermione supposed that as the children grew older, it would be easier to explain, although the need for explanations would likely be passed by then. Hermione was certain that if everything Draco had hypothesized was true, the children could feel one another's presence without needing to see each other.

Perhaps as strongly as Hermione knew Draco was standing just on the other side as well. _Like mother, like daughter, _she thought wryly as she helped her girl get situated on the exam table. _Pansy was right, wasn't she? Without Harry here as a buffer, I can't help myself. He saved me as much as I saved him all those years ago. Without him then, would I have kept going back to Draco? Could I have helped myself?_

She shook herself from her reverie as the healer rounded the curtain, a nurse in tow. "Shall we get started?" he asked comfortably. "I just need you to stay as relaxed as possibly, young Miss Potter," he said, patting Viola's hand.

"If you would, please," he asked, waving the nurse to the curtain. The witch drew it back slowly, revealing Draco and Barclay in a similar position, son's hand in his father's, seated on an exam table.

Viola concentrated on breathing slowly, her mother whispering encouraging words in her ear. Both children had been connected to machines that were running read-outs of their heartbeats and brainwaves. Barclay looked at Viola, smiling shyly and Viola returned the expression, even daring to wave a little.

Then she began to grow excited. "Barclay, I'm going back to school on Monday- will you come back, too? Do you think if you don't Teacher will give me a new partner?"

Barclay shook his head slowly. "I'm not ready to go back yet. But don't worry, I'll come back soon. My Dad says so." His breathing grew a little labored and Viola smiled at him, ignorant and chatting away.

"Stay calm, Vi," Hermione whispered again, but it was too late. Both their heart rates were rising: Barclay's to match Viola's.

The healer approached her daughter and patted her hand, watching the machines. He turned to Hermione. "If you don't mind, I'd like to test the situation by giving your daughter a slight sedative. Do you mind?"

Hermione looked across the space to Draco, who was watching his son with an agonizing look on his face. She turned back to the healer and shook her head. "No, that's alright. Please, do what you need to."

The healer nodded and the witch stepped forward to administer the sedative. It was in potion form and Viola paused in her diatribe to take a few sips. She wrinkled her face.

"That tasted funny, Mummy," she said. She continued to talk, but within seconds her heart rate slowed down and she was blinking sleepily. All eyes turned to Barclay's monitor and, sure enough, his heart rate slowed as well. Only then did Draco lift his eyes and look at Hermione. She stared back steadily and understanding passed between them.

* * *

Several minutes later, after a few more tests had been run, the healer met with both parents outside the room while nurses took care of getting the children up and about.

"Well, it looks as if your suspicions are correct, Mr. Malfoy. A connection has been established between the children due to a magical bond. I suspect that if there were any other children fathered by Potter, Barclay would react the same way. It's about the blood and magic lines, not necessarily a personal bond. I'm going to recommend that you keep the children separate for a little longer- a week at most, then start having them spend small amounts of time with one another. Although Barclay is healing more quickly than we expected, there's no telling right now how long he'll take to get fully up to speed, eh?"

Hermione nodded and accepted the healer's prescription for a light sedative for Viola in case of emergencies when the children were meeting with one another and then stepped away, allowing Draco to speak to the man alone. Was he serious about the bloodlines? Would the child she bore now also have a life long bond with Draco's son? Or would the bonds have worn off by then? It was so hard to know what to do in a case such as this. When Voldemort had unwittingly bonded himself to Harry, made him a _Horcrux_, all Harry had needed to do to fix the problem was let himself die to break the bond. Well, that wasn't an option here. So would the connection be there for Viola's entire life? Or was this different? After all, it wasn't like Barclay was a Horcrux. Harry hadn't tried to kill him or anything- it was a completely different situation.

Clearly, she would need to find time to do a little reading and research in the coming days.

After Draco had finished speaking with the healer, he joined Hermione. "So we were right," he murmured. "I'm so sorry, Hermione-"

She interrupted him. "_You _were right. There's no need to apologize, Draco. I'm perfectly fine. So, when do you want to schedule their first playdate?" she asked, smiling a little.

"It does sound a little ridiculous, doesn't it?" he murmured.

"It does," she agreed. "But it still has to be done. Do you think he'll need the whole week?"

"Not necessarily. How about I let you know how things are going next week? As long as our meetings about the trial are still on, I don't see why we can't just talk about it then."

"Of course they're on," she replied. "Anyway, that sounds good to me. So I'll see you next Monday, bright and early, then?"

Draco nodded slowly. "Ye-es," he paused, watching her. She stared calmly back.

"What is it?"

"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to have the meeting over morning tea or lunch, instead? If your stomach can handle it, that is, or you're not too busy-"

Hermione felt her cheeks flush and looked at the ground. Already? He was asking her on a date already? _No, no, it's just a meeting over tea or food or some such. Not a date. Definitely not a date_, she reassured herself as best as possible before responding. She picked carefully at a fuzzy on her sweater and spoke slowly. "I don't see why not…lunch would probably be a better idea in my condition, however."

"Is it hard for you this time?" Draco asked quietly. "You never disappeared into the restroom for hours when you had Viola."

She shot him an arch glance. "How observant of you."

He blushed. "I could hardly help noticing. You stayed at work until nigh on the ninth month, and George had us working together a lot then."

She waved a hand. "I know, I know. No, I didn't have this much trouble with Vi. No, I have no idea why I am having this much trouble. Maybe it's stress. I missed my appointment earlier this week, so I won't have any kind of diagnosis until the weekend."

Draco nodded. "Sorry for asking."

"No, you're not. But thanks," she responded, giving him a small smile. "You still haven't taught me those spells."

"Ah- right. I'll owl them to you later. Actually, Ornella was, er, going through Pansy's things and uncovered her old collection of witches' pregnancy guides. Would you like them?" He stopped short as he saw Hermione flushing and ran a hand over his hair. "You probably have your own collection, don't you? Never mind- I'm sorry-"

"Will you stop apologizing for everything?" Hermione bit out before smiling again. "It's okay, Draco. I appreciate the offer-" _yes, thanks for trying to foist your dead wife's things off on me,_ "but I really don't need any extra things just now. If you owl me the spells, that will be fine."

After a few more minutes of occasionally pleasant conversation, Hermione finally managed to retrieve Viola and excuse herself from his presence. While it wasn't uncomfortable being around him- in fact, their meetings had gone rather well that week- she still felt a little awkward.

Awkward, but somehow pleased with the attention. She cast a glance over her shoulder at him and he raised a hand in farewell.

"Lunch," he called.

Lifting her own hand and nodding in response, she saw a smile spread across his face and answered it with one of her own before hoisting her still sleepy daughter into her arms and speeding off down the corridor.

She was suddenly looking forward to Monday. It helped that the situation between their children was not irreversible, either. Or that it meant they would be spending even more time together than they already were- all for the sake of their children, of course. The contented hum returned and Viola rested her head on her mother's shoulder. While the little girl didn't entirely understand everything that was going on, she knew when her mum was happy. And Barclay's dad seemed to make her smile as much as her little brother or sister did. She was going to have a whole family again soon, she knew. She held onto her mother tightly and felt herself drift to sleep.

Hermione stroked her daughter's hair gently and apparated away with her once they'd exited the hospital. She had a lot to do this weekend, but she didn't feel upset or stressed out, somehow. Pleased, the niggling voice in Hermione's head decided to remain silent for the first time in days.

* * *

**AN: I feel like this chapter is a little sloppy. Let me know what you think- I'll probably edit it later on, once I've gotten a bit further. Thanks!**


	45. Multiple Blessings

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_When a friend is in trouble, don't annoy him by asking if there is anything you can do. Think up something appropriate and do it._

_-Edgar Watson Howe_

* * *

Hermione was back at St. Mungo's the next day for her appointment. She and Ginny had rescheduled together again- Molly had practically insisted that a member of the family be there for all her exams and wasn't it nice, she'd said, that Ginny needed to go for check -ups as well? That meant they could go together! How lovely.

Hermione and Ginny had suffered the indignity of it mildly and, Hermione had to admit, she even felt a little relieved. It was nice to have a close friend with whom she could go through these things. Since it was a Friday, Ginny had suggested that Hermione should bring Vi by her home first; and then they could have dinner at the Longbottoms' afterwards, with everyone home that night. Plenty of playmates for Vi and some adult conversation that didn't involve work and goblins- as long as Ginny could keep Neville from going on about his exposé. Hermione had thought Ginny's idea sounded just as lovely as her mum's- although it would probably be a little awkward. After all, the presence that would so obviously be missing was Harry's.

But she'd resolved to move on- at least, Ginny had needed to remind her, but her friend was right. Dinner with old friends was not the same as her Monday lunch date with Draco Malfoy. No, that was the thing she should be worrying about, wasn't it? (Never mind that she'd also told herself quite firmly that it was _not_ a date.) So dinner it was.

She was thinking of all these things as she lay on the examining table, the healer poking and prodding at her stomach and then, that glory of glories, rubbing a potion over her stomach while she spelled the ultrasound. Ginny sat in a corner of the room, flipping through a magazine. Both women had agreed that neither of them needed hand holding for a routine check-up.

Hermione had wondered often, as she'd gotten older and thought about her future and children and such, what the wizarding world did for things like pregnancies. Her mum had even urged her to go ahead and make such appointments with a muggle physician, for normalcy's sake. Hermione had scoffed at that. Normalcy? The truth was that things weren't that different when it came to medical practices. If you had a headache, you took a potion- just not Tylenol or Ibuprofen. If you sprained an ankle, there was a spell to heal it, but it was still recommended you wear a sling or brace. Pregnancies were no different. The mechanics of it might be a little strange and magically based, but one still got a picture of one's baby that was grainy and distorted and, quite frankly, difficult to discern from a lump of modeling clay. So she'd decided that if the results were the same, she might as well try things out the wizarding way, the way she had been since she was eleven. She was a witch, after all.

The one difference she had been able to see- rather, hear- so far was the heart beat. Instead of the whooshing sound that was discernable from muggle machines, the heart beat came across clear and loud- emanating not from the machine, but directly from her stomach.

That was why, after the healer had begun the procedure, she grew concerned. Instead of one steady, clear beating, it sounded more like a syncopation, with beats one right after the other in a strange pattern. Hermione looked over at the machine, couldn't see anything of use as usual, and looked to her healer.

The other witch looked at the machine and began asking questions. "Have you noticed anything different about this pregnancy, Mrs. Potter?"

Hermione reclined again and shrugged. Maybe it was just the stress- probably nothing to worry about. "I'm having a lot of morning sickness- more back aches than normal. Other than that, no. What's the matter?" she asked.

The healer looked to her and pointed back to the screen. "Can you see this line here? That's one head, right there…and a second just to the right of it."

Hermione stared in horror at the screen. "What?" she whispered. "What do you mean? Is there a deformity-"

"No, no," the woman replied, smiling. "Mrs. Potter, you're having twins. You're almost two months along. Do you have a history of this in the family?"

Hermione sat up again, stared at the screen, saw both lumps move separately, and fainted. Ginny promptly dropped her magazine and rushed over as the healer stared at her patient, aghast.

"No history that I'm aware of," Ginny informed the healer, "unless she's been at it with one of my brothers."

The healer seemed even more aghast at that remark and Ginny quickly shut up and helped revive her friend. It very much looked like they would need comfort food for dinner. She hoped Neville had stocked up the refrigerator.

* * *

A little later in the evening, Hermione was sitting at Ginny's bar, helping chop some vegetables for shepherd's pie. Neville was occupied with controlling the children in the living room. They could hear cries of, "Giddy-up!" and, "It's my turn!"

"Since when did Ronald want to be a cowboy?" Hermione asked casually and Ginny smiled.

"Oh, yes, he gave up his dream of Quidditch star last week. Neville decided it was okay if he showed the boy _Hidalgo_."

"Mmm- I approve," Hermione murmured. "Viggo Mortensen…"

"Mmm, Draco Malfoy," Ginny responded, laughing.

Hermione blushed three shades of red and cut the next carrot in half rather viciously. "It's not like that yet, I told you already, Ginny!"

"Yet, she says," Ginny replied, still chuckling. "Okay, I'm sorry. Anyway, _do _you have a history of twins in your family?"

"I called my mum while you were at your exam to ask and, yes, it seems I do. They're rare in ours, though. They skip several generations, it seems. The last set my mum could think of was some great, great aunts on my dad's side. She had to ask him about it, too."

"Maybe on Harry's side?" Ginny pondered as she mashed potatoes.

"Oh, what does it matter? I'll be a single mum with three children- one set of twins, for Merlin's sake- _and _head of a department. It's a lot," she mumbled, still slicing through the offending vegetable.

Ginny nodded sympathetically. "If I didn't have Neville, I don't know how I'd do it. But the offer stands, Hermione. You know we're all here for you. And _my_ mum won't let you do this on your own. Neither will your own parents, I'm sure."

Hermione smiled and finished her chopping before reaching for the mug of tea Ginny had brewed her. "You're right. Of course, you're right." She sighed and was about to say more when an awful crash came from the direction of the living room and they heard Neville give a shout of pain.

"Blasted cat!" he roared and they heard all the children begin laughing wildly. Hermione was ahead of Ginny when she slid to a stop in the living room doorway.

There in the middle of the floor was Neville, Ronald piled on top of him, the twins in their play pen and Viola sitting on the sofa, something fuzzy in her lap. An overturned end table and broken vase attested to the commotion.

"Is it the neighbor's cat again?" Ginny called over Hermione' shoulder. She rolled her eyes and pushed past her friend and into the room to help Neville get up. "Be careful of the broken glass," she warned the children. Hermione looked back to her daughter, who appeared unscathed.

"What do you have there?" she asked and made her way to the sofa.

"It's that cat that keeps getting into our house and tormenting our children," Ginny responded evenly. "I don't mind it too much, but Neville insists it knows perfectly well what it's doing."

"Evil thing," Neville agreed as he rose to his feet.

Hermione sat down next to Vi and examined the pile of fur that was lounging on her daughter's lap and hiding half her body. It was very large and very orange, though she could see a lot of grey in its fur. Vi seemed content to stroke the animal and Hermione reached a hand forward to pet it as well. It looked so much like Crookshanks that she suddenly missed her old familiar _desperately_.

It turned its head to stare at her as soon as her hand touched its fur, one eye opening lazily, its tongue flicking up over a snaggletooth. Hermione gasped.

It _was _Crookshanks.

"You old devil!" she exclaimed. "Where have you been all these years, darling? I've missed you awfully- just awfully! Oh, how I've needed you! " She immediately scooped the creature off Viola's lap and cuddled him to her. He batted her hair half heartedly, but began purring in a deep growl that made Viola laugh.

Ginny and Neville paused in their efforts to clean up the room and stared.

"Crookshanks," Neville muttered. "That explains an awful lot."

"He was lost after the final battle, wasn't he?" Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded around a mouth full of fur. She knew by accounts from Ginny and others that after he'd been left behind at The Burrow that summer, Crookshanks hadn't stuck around much longer than an extra week or two. She hadn't seen or heard from him since. But to see him now, of all times- it was a blessing. He must have known she needed him. He'd always been a brilliant familiar and the best of friends. She continued to hug him and land kisses across the top of his head, her friends eyeing her strangely.

"Well, he is someone else's cat, now," Neville finally murmured. "But perhaps you can say something to the owners."

Hermione searched his neck for a collar and found none. "Nonsense. There's no collar here- how do you even know he's your neighbors' cat?"

Ginny shrugged and looked back at Neville. "That's true- we've never actually seen him going in and out of their house. And they never call him. We always assumed he was theirs, but we really don't know."

Hermione held him up and looked him in the eyes. "Have you been living with another family?" she asked very seriously. He blinked at her and glanced away, as if bored. "Is there someone out there who's going to miss you if I take you home with me?"

Again, a bored stare and then- so subtle she almost missed it- he shook his head. She felt around in his fur and could tell he had several knots- a sure sign he'd been on his own. She smiled at him and put him back on her lap.

"There, see? He insists he's been taking care of himself. You don't doubt that, do you?"

Ginny laughed. "Certainly not. Are you going to need to stop at the store on your way back for some gourmet cat food? I'm sure the supply of mice in your apartment complex is sadly lacking compared to Hogwarts."

Crookshanks' tail twitched and Viola laughed with delight. He purred under the mother's and daughter's ministrations.

"That might be in order," Hermione replied. "Oh, the food, we'd better get back to it- here, let me put you down again, you naughty old boy," she murmured lovingly to the cat. He responded by crawling right back into Viola's lap. Ronald moved over to the other side of her daughter and tentatively stroked Crookshanks' tail. The cat didn't seem to mind and Neville shrugged, glancing at Hermione.

"Well, if you insist, I don't mind you taking him off our hands and away from our neighborhood for us. I'm sure we're not the only family he's been torturing."

Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes. "My pleasure," she smirked. Standing, she joined Ginny as her friend moved back towards the kitchen. "Don't you dare leave again without saying good-bye," she called over her shoulder to her old friend and familiar. A yowl met her ears and she smiled. "That's more like it."

Accompanying Ginny, the two women left the room. Ginny's hands were full of a dustpan and broken glass. She could easily spell the vase back together, and if it meant that two old friends could be reunited, then she'd gladly let the half cat, half Kneazle break all the vases he liked.

Just so long as he helped mend the things they were all looking after: Hermione's and Viola's hearts.


	46. Not Finished, After All

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your heart or burn down your house, you can never tell._

_-Joan Crawford_

* * *

Draco stalked from George's office, fuming. He ignored the shouts coming from the open office long enough to get several meters down the hallway before George caught up with him.

"Draco, come back. Let's talk about this."

Draco turned around and swore under his breath. "What is there to discuss, exactly? That aside from the goblins being up for trial they're putting the rest of us on the defense, too? What is this garbage?"

"Draco, you didn't let me finish before you ran out. Now come on, we can't discuss this out here." The older man glanced about quickly before steering Draco back into his office.

Draco rolled his eyes and took a seat again. "Fine. Explain away. You know, I hardly think Hermione is going to react any better when she hears about this."

George groaned and shut the door. "Please, don't remind me. Just please remember that none of this was my idea, okay? The Wizengamot's hands are tied, with all the fancy paperwork the goblins' attorneys' danced out. It's really just a formality. Think of it as an official inquiry that will all be over in one day, eh?"

"It's an outrage," the other man snapped. "We lose our spouses, then bust our butts solving this damned case and now we're the ones on trial? Face it, George- the Wizengamot just wanted an excuse to go after my department. I'm sure they're very sorry the last of the Golden Trio has been caught in the crossfire, but that's how it is, right? Sometimes good people have to take one for the team."

"Draco, that's not true-"

"Oh? Then why isn't your precious brother the one on trial?"

At that, George found his own temperature rising dangerously. He knew as well as Draco did that the entire thing was a farce, manufactured by the goblins so that they could delay going to trial and somehow regain control of Gringotts. And while Draco was right and Percy did deserve to be on trial, the man was still his brother.

Draco took George's silence as the confirmation it was and stood up. "If that's the best you can do, I'm leaving. I have a lunch appointment."

George thought about protesting, realized it wouldn't do any good, and waved him out, frowning into space. Draco paused in the doorway and turned back for a moment.

"You know, I never thought I'd see the day when you would exchange the life of that weasel of a brother of yours for those of your friends," he growled before walking away.

George buried his head in his hands. Being Vice Minister was not turning out to be the job he'd imagined.

* * *

Draco was silent and angry when he met Hermione outside her department to take her to lunch. She gave him a small smile, to no avail, and decided not to keep quiet as he led her outside and to his vehicle. If he wanted to take her to a nice restaurant, clearly today was not the day to argue about it. It wasn't until they were seated and had menus in hand that he finally seemed to notice her. He took in her skirt and sweater, done-up hair and pearls and gave a small smile.

"You dressed up," he observed.

She shifted in her seat a little and shook her head. "No more than usual."

"That's not true, Hermione. I've memorized your work wardrobe and you dressed up today."

She shot him a look that said "Drop it." Never mind that she had no desire to know how he'd memorized her closet. He smiled benignly and looked over his menu.

"What were you so upset about just now?" she asked. "It's not Barclay, I hope."

"No, it's not Barclay," he assured her. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but the waiter arrived with their drinks and proceeded to take their orders.

Hermione eyed him speculatively and took a long drink of her water before speaking again. Draco was back to brooding, staring at his ale as if it might explode any minute.

"You forgot your papers," she pointed out even as she began to dig hers out of her bag. He looked up, startled.

"What?"

"Your papers. For the trial? You didn't bring them with you. I thought you wanted to work over this lunch."

"Oh, hmm," he replied. "After we eat."

"But you still forgot them," she prodded.

He gave her another bemused glance and went back to brooding. She sighed and put her papers away.

"Well if it isn't Barclay and you clearly don't intend to get any work done at this meal, what is going on? You may as well talk to me about it since I'm here," she finished, propping her chin in her hand and batting her lashes at him. The action earned her a smirk and he finally sat up, leaning over the table a little.

"How has your day been so far? Did you get my owl over the weekend?"

Hermione smiled at him, glad he was at least talking to her. "Yes, I did, thank you. I managed to keep some of my breakfast down, thanks to you. And the weekend was spent _not _in bed, so that was another bonus."

"Has it really been that bad this time? You can't be that far along," he murmured.

She shrugged. "Well, it's rather embarrassing to talk about. I'm not even out of the first trimester yet…" She bit her lip and looked into her water glass as if it were fascinating. She was hesitant to tell him about the twins with no way of knowing how he would react. He would have no reason to be happy for her, would he? Wouldn't he be more likely to view her having twins now as an impediment to any future relationship between themselves?

Draco patted her hand. "You don't have to talk about it right now. I understand wanting to wait. Pansy and I…we had so many setbacks."

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's not really that. I mean, I am worried, but well…it's just that it's twins," she blurted out before taking another long drink. There. She'd told him.

Draco stared at her, trying not to let his shock and envy show. Bloody Potter. He would always get the last say, wouldn't he? "Twins. Really? Been buggering a Weasley on the side?"

Hermione glared at him. "Draco!" Then she laughed. "Actually, Ginny said something along the same lines to the healer. It does seem impossible, but it's true."

"What, that it's twins or that you've been buggering a-"

"Draco!" Hermione laughed again. She'd forgotten how funny he could be at times- how delightfully sarcastic. And he didn't seem upset…maybe he was even a little happy for her. She smiled warmly at him, suddenly feeling much better about the news herself.

He laughed with her. "So, aside from your wonderful news and not spending all day in the loo, how was your weekend?"

Hermione's eyes suddenly lit up and she grinned. "Crookshanks came back," she said proudly.

"That would be…"

"My cat!" Hermione reminded him, swatting at his arm. He smiled and nodded.

"I know, I remember. Big, ugly, orange thing."

"He is not ugly! He's _wonderful_," Hermione sighed. Draco pretended to gag and she swatted at him again. It was really just a ruse on his part to get her to touch him again; he didn't really hate the creature or anything. He couldn't remember that he'd ever had much interaction with it in the first place.

_I suppose that will change_, he thought to himself. Suddenly he found himself looking forward to meeting the beast again.

"Is Thursday evening still okay for a play date?" he asked her.

"Oh, of course," she replied. "Do you think Barclay will be feeling up to it by then?"

"I think so," he answered. "He didn't even have a fainting spell last week at the appointment, so I think that bodes well. Besides, he's eager to see her. I doubt I could keep him away at this point."

Hermione smiled and started to reply, but their food arrived just then and cut off any further conversation for the next ten minutes. Both of them realized they were rather hungry- Hermione because she hadn't been eating properly for the last few weeks and Draco because he was still incredibly angry at George. He'd done his best to hide it for the last few minutes as he knew George would prefer to tell her himself. Well, it wasn't really that…more like George deserved to tell her himself. Take one for the team, indeed. Hogwash. He would see about that. If it was his department the Ministry was secretly after, he'd deal with them himself. There was no reason to drag Hermione into it. Not that he had much time to deal with it- the trial was being scheduled for early next week…both trials, it seemed. He'd need to switch his efforts from focusing on the goblins; to building up a defense for his own department; by building an offense against Percy and the past administrations of the Ministry who'd done nothing about the wards. It would take a lot of energy.

If it was a delay the goblins were looking for, they were certainly going to get it. Draco hadn't worked so hard to build up his department and career only to see it lost because some old-fart goblins needed to stand trial for something their great-grandfathers had done. It was ludicrous.

Hermione glanced up from her food to find Draco brooding again, his fork halfway to his mouth. She frowned and waved a hand in front of his face.

"What?"

"Draco, tell me what's going on. You're starting to worry me."

"Just…stress," he finished lamely. "Between Barclay and the trial, not to mention getting the department back in working order…"

She shook her head and put her utensils down. "No. I don't believe you. Your department was back in working order two weeks ago, Barclay's prognosis is good, Ornella has been handling your household for you. Whatever is bothering you is related to the trial, isn't it? Though I can't figure out why, because it seems to me we're doing a good job of getting our materials in order."

Draco began to argue, hesitated, and finally put his fork down. "You need to talk to George. I can't say anything-"

"Draco!"

"I can't! It's not my place-"

"_Draco_."

He avoided her eyes and dug into his meal again. She continued to glare at him and he finally looked at her, shrugging as he scooped the last bit of food off his plate and into his mouth.

"Go make cow eyes somewhere else. It's not my place," he answered her silent glare. Then he pointed to the rest of the chips on her half sandwich, half soup plate. "Are you going to finish those?'

With a discouraged sigh she pushed the plate forward. "Go for it. I'm going to the restroom."

He munched on a few cold fries and watched her leave. He couldn't kill George yet. The man might still make a turnaround (and he really did like him). But if he didn't…he'd let Hermione take care of him. She was good at that sort of thing. And whether George denied having romantic feelings for her or not, she had him wrapped around her little finger. Perhaps, for George, it was like having a younger sister who didn't try to put gnomes in your bed. He smiled a little at the image and then stood up. He fished around in his wallet for some bills and left enough for the meal and tip. Then he grabbed Hermione's wrap from the back of the chair and asked the waiter to box up the remaining food for them. Perhaps it would be best if they spent the rest of lunch back at the Ministry.

Better access to George from there.

Hermione was surprised when Draco greeted her upon her return by handing her shawl to her along with a box of food.

"Are we leaving already?"

"You were right, I left my notes in my office and I did mean to get some work done. Besides, you want to know what's going on."

"You said to ask George."

"Exactly, you can't talk to him from here. We can bring him the other half of your sandwich as a peace offering."

Hermione actually looked a little sad. "I sort of wanted the rest of it-"

Draco smirked. "I was only kidding. I ordered him something while you were gone. Doing what, by the way?" he asked, looking her over as he escorted her back to the car. "You were gone an awfully long time. Food didn't disagree, did it?"

Hermione gave a noncommittal response and took her seat. What was she supposed to say to that? "No, I was powdering my nose again and wondering if the wrinkles about my eyes were getting too deep. Plus, I had to spell a few loose hairs back into place and then make sure there was nothing in my teeth, just in case you were staring at my teeth the way that I was at yours. Your mouth is quite lovely, did you know?"

She snorted at her fantasies and watched him walk around the vehicle and get in the driver's side. So much for controlling her schoolgirl urges. She was acting as if she had a crush on him when there were a dozen more important things for her to be worrying about.

Draco looked over at her and smiled. "Ready?"

Ignoring the voices in her head, Hermione nodded at him and he quickly started the car and pulled out into traffic. Time to go deal with those other, oh-so-important things.

* * *

**AN: La-di-dah, I'll write another chapter _not_ tomorrow. I'll be busy this weekend, but I hope to keep moving along to the end pretty easily now. It's so close, I can taste it. (And it tastes like marzipan and victory!)**


	47. Suspicions

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the HP franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other._

_-Mother Teresa_

* * *

Draco didn't bother to knock before walking into George's office, but Hermione held back, suddenly uncomfortable. Whatever Draco was dragging her into, it wasn't pleasant. Otherwise he wouldn't have cut their lunch short that way; or been so distracted…Draco, distracted during a meal alone with her? It was a rarity, indeed.

Draco noticed she wasn't by his side and swung about after setting the box of food on George's desk. The red haired wizard looked up as well, sighed, and clapped a hand over his eyes.

"Lord, Draco, do I have to do this now? Really? Well, you'd better come in, Hermione," he grumbled, waving a hand. "And before you say anything else, _Malfoy_," he continued, "I want you to know that I went ahead and filed the information on Percy, complete with the Minister's signature, if it makes you feel any better."

"It does, thank you," Draco responded cordially. "We brought you lunch."

George raised an eyebrow. "Was she your important lunch appointment, then?"

"Our departments do work together a great deal. We've been preparing one another for the trial," he shot back.

Hermione crossed her arms. "Are you two quite finished?"

George laughed and nodded ruefully, gesturing at a seat. Hermione took it, arranged her robes, and looked at him seriously.

"I suppose I should know what's going on."

The hand came over George's eyes again and he dragged it over his face slowly. "Yes. Yes, you should. I imagine you can help."

He lowered his hand and folded his arms across his chest. "The goblins' attorneys have filed paperwork demanding that a fair trial be granted them, with no species' involvement in the malfunction of the wards being overlooked. That means the Wizengamot is bound to investigate the key players from the Ministry- you, me, Draco…your departments. The Minister had no choice but to agree with them- they used more fancy language than we cared to decipher and in the end, they do have a point."

Hermione carefully controlled her rising anger and tried to calmly consider what George had said. She chewed her lower lip a bit before responding.

"I suppose they do."

Behind her, Draco let out a yelp of shock and she felt him leaning towards her.

"Are you both out of your mind?" he asked.

Hermione turned towards him and frowned. "Thank you, I'm not out of my mind. I simply understand the goblins' point of view. There should be a full investigation before _anybody _goes on trial, really." She turned back to George. "Isn't there some way we can delay the trial while things are investigated properly- with a committee and everything? Then, after a report has been drawn up, we'll be prepared to go to trial and have the right people on the stand."

George shook his head. "That's not how the Wizengamot works, unfortunately. I agree with you- I tried to advise the Minister on it, but our only option, if we don't want the goblins who need to stand trial escaping before the report is complete is to try them now. We have to stick to the schedule."

"With my department taking the brunt of it," Draco growled.

"Draco, for the last time, the Ministry is not out to get-"

"Have you been in my shoes the last seven years, George? No? Then stop talking as if you have. We're the persona non grata of this blasted place and you know it." The blond wizard turned to Hermione. "This is why I was upset earlier, if you care to know- we're going to have to scratch our trial meetings so that I can get my department ready for a witch-hunt. I'm terribly sorry, but there it is."

Hermione smiled up at him sadly. "It's okay, Draco. I'm a grown woman. You take care of what you need to- I'll be fine. Let me know if you need help preparing."

Draco looked at her for a long moment before he placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed hard. "You're wonderful, but no, thanks. You're going to have to prepare your own department. We'll manage. Thanks for the news on your brother, George," he added, waving at the Vice Minister.

The red-headed man waved back. "No problem. I'm sorry about this new mess."

Hermione turned about in her chair. "Thursday, Draco?"

"Thursday," he confirmed over his shoulder as he walked out of the office. Hermione swung back around and eyed George.

"So. An investigative report and trial all in a week? Do you think he's right- that it's some sort of conspiracy?"

George shook his head. "I don't know, honestly. But if it is, I don't believe it's the work of the Ministry. Perhaps some one person, but most of our officials and department heads are quick to acknowledge the help Muggle Relations has been to the Ministry. It doesn't make sense, why someone would be after them."

"Maybe not them," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Maybe it's directed more towards the people in the department, than the department itself. Look at who works there- former Death Eaters, people who refused to take part in the war, people who were coerced into Voldemort's service…"

George nodded. "I see what you mean. Even though everyone there is working hard and has proven themselves, there might still be someone out there holding a grudge against them for past behavior."

"Exactly- until recently, I was one of those people. I didn't hate any of them enough to try and get them all fired or thrown in Azkaban, but I detested working with them; entirely because of how they behaved eleven years ago. It's not so far fetched then, is it, that someone may be out to get them now?"

"I agree. Look, I'll get some people together and have them start combing over our personnel files, see if we can dig anything up on any employees who might have cause-"

"George, if you do that you'll end up interviewing most of the Ministry. We all have reason to dislike those people. No…what would be a better method? Perhaps you might try looking for employees who have a personal tragedy in their pasts that was caused by, or connected to, someone in Muggle Relations. I think that will get you farther to begin with."

"Good idea. Thank you, Hermione, I'll get right on it. And you," he added, raising an eyebrow at her, "had better get right on taking better care of yourself. What's this I hear about you tossing your cookies all the time?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat and stood up. "It's nothing, George. This is just going to be a tough pregnancy, is all."

"How tough?"

Hermione flushed. Why was it anybody's bloody business? "Twins," she replied shortly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my office and the rest of _my _lunch."

George looked somewhat ashamed of himself and offered his hand. "Merlin, I apologize, Hermione. Are you doing alright?"

"I will be. Draco has been very sweet. I'm keeping busy. Your mum is babysitting Vi for me. It will all work out, George," she finished softly.

"Yes, I imagine it will," he murmured. "Well, go on, then. I'm sure I'll see you later this week. Take care."

He watched her leave and took his seat again. George couldn't help but wonder how having twins was going to affect hers and Viola's lives. He also couldn't help wondering how it would affect Draco. He knew it was still early in their widowhoods, but it wasn't hard to see how the chemistry between the two had blossomed in the absence of their spouses. It was as though two forces that were clearly meant to be together had been dormant all this time, waiting their proper chance to thrive.

He even wondered if Draco and Hermione needed the loss of a first love in order to come back together; in order to understand and accept their feelings for one another. He shook his head. No, he needed to stop being ridiculous and pondering the love lives of his employees (and friends). He had other things he needed to be doing besides wondering if Harry's- _Harry's_- death was necessary for Hermione to be with Draco Malfoy. It was absurd.

George sighed and turned back to the files piled upon his desk. He would have to tackle those in a minute. First, he needed to get some of his assistants together and put them to work. If they were going to find a suspect before the trial, they needed to get moving. He wondered briefly if he should alert Melusine to his coworker's suspicions. She did already have a lot on her plate…he sighed again, shrugged, reached for his memo pad and began to write. He'd worry about the rules later. He hadn't gotten his job by obeying them and he wasn't about to start now. Besides, if Draco and Hermione were right, they needed to keep their investigation quiet. If they were right- _if_- then there was no telling what the individual might do if confronted with being found out. And hadn't they already had enough tragedy for one year?

* * *

Hermione mulled the situation over as she returned to her office. She knew as well as anybody that people at the Ministry generally disliked and mistrusted the employees at Muggle Relations, regardless of their good work. She didn't think Draco was entirely off base with his suspicions. Still, it remained to be seen whether someone was acting to get them all fired, or worse, or whether this was all an unfortunate coincidence. She could see why he was so upset, though. After all their hard work, after everything they'd been through, they were being put on the stand? Forced to defend their work when they were the ones who stopped the slaughter to begin with? She understood the need for an investigation and a proper report, but Draco was right; it was an injustice. They had proof that the goblins had been behind it all along- whether unwittingly or not. The right people were going to trial. Anything else was merely a formality devised by the goblins' representatives to get their clients off and Gringotts back in their money-grubbing hands. The truth would out easily enough and their own jobs and reputations would remain in tact.

So why did she feel so uneasy about things?

She tried to shake it off and entered her department again, nodding to her underlings and heading straight for her office. She was stopped by Hooper, who was holding some files.

"Ms. Potter, we just received these files from Muggle Relations. It's some material they thought our department should have to help prepare for the trial."

Hermione took the files, surprised. Why didn't Draco just send it directly to her office?

"Thank you, Hooper," she murmured, flipping through them quickly. "I'll have a proper look at them in a moment." She headed for her office door, but the man stopped her again.

"Er, is it true that out departments are coming under investigation, too?"

Hermione looked up at him, distracted, as she balanced the files and her doggy bag. "Well…I suppose it must be all over, eh? They would have proceeded with an official investigation sooner or later; the trial has simply pushed it forward, in a way. I'll have to put together a team to prepare our department for the onslaught."

Hooper straightened up a little, smiling. "I've actually already taken the liberty of preparing a list of names for you and," he added, whipping out some parchment and setting it atop her already loaded arms, "here is a list of places for them to start with our defense."

With a smile, Hermione nodded gratefully and finally dashed into her office, dropping everything on her desk. She returned to the door. "Thank you, Hooper, that's very…_efficient_ of you. Please let me know if you think of anything else. For now, there are a few items of business I need to take care of. _Privately_," she added.

Hooper nodded and walked back to his desk, head held high. Hermione watched him go, puzzled, before she closed her door and decided not to think about it too much. There was the second half of a grilled cheese awaiting her in that box and several things she needed to go over as it was, without Hooper's good suggestions. Strange man. Productive, hard working and smart as a whip, but strange at times.

She shook her head and took a seat, opening up her to go box and lifting her prize from its depths with a gleam in her eye. Time to finish lunch, first.

As she ate, she considered her lunch date. It hadn't gone too poorly, she thought. Draco had been pleasant, even complimentary, and it had been nice to take time out to sit and converse with someone she liked.

There, she admitted it. She liked him. Enough to start a relationship so soon after losing her husband? That, she wasn't sure about. Give it time, Ginny had said. Don't feel guilty. But how was she supposed to not feel guilty? She thought about the one activity over the weekend that she hadn't mentioned to Draco: the support group.

She'd gone on Sunday. It was her second meeting with them, but the first time she'd lasted the entire two hours. She wasn't sure yet if it was going to help or not, but it was nice to be around people who knew exactly what you were going through. Although they all had different experiences, apparently. There was one woman attending who had lost her husband years ago, but the wound was just as fresh as the day it happened. Then there was the wizard whose wife died six months ago and he felt ashamed to be relieved at her death. He had doubts as to whether their marriage would have lasted, even though he loved her enough to feel bereft at her passing. And what of the witch who didn't feel any guilt over marrying a month after her partner died, so she felt compelled to come to the group and keep up a pretense of mourning? Hermione couldn't help but wonder what category she fit into. She worried that if she did start a relationship with Draco too soon, she would only be relying on him because she felt her children needed a father or she was scared to have these twins alone. After all, she would need more help raising them than Molly or Ginny could reasonably provide. She'd even, she admitted ashamedly, considered George for a few minutes. He was kind and cared for her- would it be so difficult to wrap him about her finger and entice a marriage proposal from him?

But that would be cruel to the both of them, especially since she now recognized that feelings for Draco still existed- and not in a small way, either. He had been right about her dressing up today, for their lunch date. Oh, she was still having crying fits at home nearly every night, but now it was comforting thoughts of her children _and _Draco that pulled her out of them. She'd actually had a dream the other night about remodeling Malfoy Manor as lady of the house. How ridiculous. As if she ever wanted to set foot in that place again.

She shook her head and smiled wryly. How strange it was to lose a spouse. One couldn't categorize it, or put one's feelings into a neat mold. Nothing seemed to fit and everyone seemed to have a different opinion of what it was like. The only thing anyone agreed on was that hurt and sorrow existed, even if it was for different reasons. She hoped, in time, that she would simply learn to accept her own feelings. That's what the support group was for, after all. Still, why hadn't she mentioned it to Draco? Perhaps he could benefit from attending, too. Or was it that she didn't want those two parts of her life colliding? Harry versus Draco…it appeared she may never be able to bring the two together, although Harry had certainly demonstrated no ill will towards the man. No, he had actually tried to bring them together, hadn't he? How strange…

She finished her sandwich and pushed the box away. There were still a few chips left over and she figured she could take them home. She could always do something with them- put them in a casserole, chop them up and fry them for breakfast…she waved her wand at it and the box floated over to her bag. Then she picked up the nearest file and began to flip through it again.

Time to get back to work, for now. Her feelings and her assessment of them would have to wait until she was home.

* * *


	48. No Small Comfort, Part 1

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_Anyone can be heroic from time to time, but a gentleman is something you have to be all the time.  
-Luigi Pirandello_

* * *

Three days later, Hermione picked Viola up at Molly's with a smile on her face. The older woman kept fussing about the both of them even as Hermione was telling her good bye and no, they did not need dinner, and yes, Ornella was an excellent cook. No, she was not going to be staying all night- Viola needed to go home, didn't she? Yes, she was changing. No, she was not going to dinner at the Malfoys' dressed like a tart.

Hermione sighed as she and Viola finally escaped The Burrow and made their way to the flat for baths and changes before they went to The Brambles.

Hermione really didn't need Molly's lectures on how she ought to conduct herself during her mourning period- the thought alone made her angry. Who said she needed a mourning period in the first place? Oh, of course there were ways to be decent- she shouldn't go snogging Draco anytime soon, for instance, but she did not need the warnings of a woman who was still happily married ringing in her ears; especially since she was already thinking about doing the very things Molly was warning her against. She _knew _kissing Draco at this stage was ridiculous, but that didn't keep her traitorous body flushing all over like a school girl when she thought of it.

And oh, was she thinking of it. If Viola heard her mother crying at night anymore, it wasn't just because she missed her daddy. No, it was also because she felt wretchedly guilty every time she woke up after dreaming of Draco taking her in his arms…

_Harry is dead, _Ginny had told her. _Stop worrying about what he would think. He would want you to be happy, that's what. So if you feel like shagging Draco Malfoy, then bloody well do it and stop owling me in the middle of the night. I love you, darling, but I'm pregnant too. _

Hermione had been trying, for the last few days, to take her advice. She's stopped focusing on the fact that Harry was gone so much and tried to focus instead on what she was going to do as a single woman. Because that's what she was now- single. The fact that it was because she'd been widowed shouldn't have too much to do with her decision. Besides, everyone was different; everybody responded to grief differently. She couldn't let it rule her life. If there was one thing she was learning from attending the support group, it was that she deserved to keep living. Having a spouse die didn't mean that one had to die with him or her, especially since she had children to think of. She shouldn't feel guilty about living her life just because she was left behind. It was an easy lesson in theory, but much harder in practice.

But she was trying, and Ginny seemed happy with that. Draco seemed even happier, but she hadn't seen him since their lunch date. He could be such an enigma sometimes. There was really no telling how he was feeling. _Of course there is_, her conscience laughed at her. _He's been confessing his undying devotion to you since Pansy and Harry died. Give him some credit, will you_? And he hadn't once made a move on her. Just told her, quietly, that he still cared for her and he'd be there for her if she needed him. A wizard and a gentleman. _Took him long enough, didn't it? _she thought before smiling wryly and opening the door to the flat.

Well. That was enough ruminating for one day. She'd have all night to continue her thoughts. For now, she needed to get Viola ready and do a few touch-ups, herself. Then she could meet Draco at his town home as promised and they would all floo over to The Brambles together.

* * *

For his part, Draco was already on his way to his town home when Hermione was picking Viola up. He'd been working like an ox all week and felt less like a wizard for it everyday. He was in great need of a break and found himself looking forward to that evening's play date with ridiculous optimism. So, it was with no small relief upon his face that he stepped through the front door.

Shackleton greeted him within a minute, wringing his hands in a nervous manner. Draco barely noticed his behavior, he was so glad to be off work.

"Shackleton!" he addressed the elf. "How are you? Would you mind packing a few things for me to take back to Ornella's? I need a few changes for next week and Barclay has begun complaining he doesn't have enough toys to play with."

"Uh, certainly, Sir," the elf responded. "But may I-"

"Oh, and can you think of anything I ought to dig up for Hermione? Any books she could use?"

"I am sure Ms. Potter has plenty of books, Sir," Shackleton pointed out. "Now, if you would-"

"Right, of course she does. Well, she and Viola should be arriving here within the half hour. Help me pack, alright?"

Draco started for the stairs, realized the elf was not following him, and turned around. Shackleton was standing in the hallway, staring down it and still wringing his hands.

"What is it?" Draco was nervous now, too. The last time the elf had acted this way was the night he'd found out about Pansy.

"Well, Sir, it's just that you already have some company…"

"What? Who?"

"It's- it's your mother, Sir."

Draco went still, one hand on the railing, the other at the back of his neck. Then he slowly shifted and walked back down the stairs to the elf.

"Where did you put her?"

"In the sitting room, Sir. She came through the floo, there was nothing I could do to stop her, I swear, Sir!"

Draco placed a hand on the elf's head and smiled tightly. "I know. We must have forgotten to close the floo to the manor all those years ago. There's no help for it now, I suppose. You go and pack for me. I'll take care of my mother."

With that, he turned and walked across the hall to a closed door which he opened silently and entered, closing it tightly behind him. Shackleton watched him go, still wringing his hands, before apparating upstairs to as he was told. As much as he was ashamed to admit it, _better him than me_ was all he could think just then.

At Draco's entrance, the white haired figure seated on the sofa turned slightly to acknowledge his presence. The hands upon her lap gripped her hand bag a little more tightly.

"So you agreed to see me," she murmured. "I wondered."

He walked around and took a seat facing her. "You are my mother," he replied.

Narcissa's face softened a little then, and she gave him a long, level look. "How are you?"

"How do you think I am, Mother?"

As much as Draco still cared for the woman sitting in front of him, the affection he'd held for his parents as a child had faded years ago, with their condemnation of his marriage and lifestyle. Narcissa at least seemed aware of the fact and merely pressed her lips together tightly at his rhetorical reply.

"Alright, I can see there's no need to beat around the bush. I came because I wanted to see you. I read about everything in the papers, of course-"

"But didn't deem her funeral worthy of your presence."

Narcissa eyed him from beneath an arched brow. "Did you want me there?"

"No," he replied evenly. "But some kind of response would have been appreciated."

"Like the flowers you sent after your father passed?"

"That was entirely Pansy's doing," Draco responded sharply. "She had a big heart; bigger than yours ever was, Mother. She was a good wife and mother and will be sorely missed."

"But not mourned for long before you take up with that tart of a muggle born," his mother sniffed.

Draco's face grew pale and he kept himself from glaring openly at the woman who'd raised him. "That is none of your business." The last thing he needed was Narcissa knowing about Barclay's condition and connection to Potter. That would end disastrously. "Now will you get to the point of your unexpected visit, please?"

"Fine. I want to see my grandchild more often-"

"As opposed to the never that was happening previously?"

Narcissa didn't bother hiding her glare at Draco. "I think it would be in your best interests to move into the manor with me. We have plenty of room, it's very safe and you needn't see me more than a few tiems a week if you choose."

"I'd bother asking about conditions, but I don't really care since I'm not interested," Draco replied. "Was that all?"

Narcissa looked at him, that brow arched once more. "Are you in a hurry, Draco? Expecting someone more important than your own mother?"

He rolled his eyes and managed to stay calm. "You stopped being the most important thing in my life when I married Pansy, Mother. I have an appointment to keep, that's all."

Suddenly the front doorbell rang. Draco turned his head quickly to scan the front sidewalk, though he knew that from where they were seated they couldn't see the front steps. His mother made a small disgusted noise and he snapped his head back around.

"Yes? Weren't you just leaving?"

"It seems that way, doesn't it?" she said softly, standing up. "I'll be back soon to check on you. You haven't won this argument yet, Draco."

"Mother, I'm a grown man. You can't threaten me anymore."

That funny, soft and sad look crossed her face again briefly. She shook her head. "I know that. Now, are you going to see me out?"

"Er," Draco mumbled as he stepped in front of her to the door. He really didn't want to negotiate a confrontation between Hermione and his mother right then. He could hear Shackleton answering the front door as his own hand hovered at the doorknob. Narcissa made another little noise of frustration.

"As you just pointed out to me, Draco, you are a grown man. Why should you be afraid of me seeing your other guests?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her, raised his eyebrows, and then smiled ruefully. "You're perfectly right, Mother. I don't know what I was thinking." With that he opened the door and stepped out into the hall, ushering his mother out as well.

* * *

Shackleton was just offering to take Hermione's coat when they entered the hall. Elf, witch and girl all looked up at the same time. Narcissa stopped short, caught herself, and before Draco could even tell what she was thinking, pasted a tight smile across her face. It was so reminiscent of all the times Hermione had seen Draco smile in stressful situations that she almost laughed.

But not quite. There was silence for several seconds until Narcissa attempted to elbow her son, who dodged the offending limb with considerable grace.

"Draco, aren't you going to introduce us?"

Viola decided that moment was a good opportunity to showcase her lately learned leadership skills.

"I'm Viola Potter and this is my mummy, Herminny Potter. We're going to visit Barclay. Who are you?" she asked with great aplomb, sticking her mitten covered hands forward and grabbing one of Narcissa's carefully gloved hands in return. To Narcissa's bewilderment, she found herself shaking the little girl's hand with some anxiety.

"Viola," Hermione said carefully, extracting her daughter from the scene, "this lady knows who we are."

"Oh," Viola replied. She stared at the woman with large eyes. "Then why'd she ask?"

With a small glare at Draco, Hermione nodded stiffly to Narcissa and then stepped aside to let the woman exit the town home. Narcissa looked Hermione up and down, sniffed again and turned to Draco.

"If you don't mind, I'll floo myself out. You know perfectly well I didn't bring a car. Now, think about what I said. I'll be in touch," she said quietly, before walking across the hall to the study. Draco stared after her, shaking his head in frustration. A few moments later, the four of them heard the whoosh of the floo as Narcissa left.

Hermione looked as if she wanted to say something, but Draco wouldn't allow her the courtesy. Instead, he turned to the elf. "Get that connection to the manor severed as soon as possible, please. Now, have you packed what I asked?"

Shackleton nodded and gestured to the suitcase in the hallway. Hermione continued to stare at Draco, wishing she could point out how much he sounded exactly like his mother at that moment. She knew it wouldn't be welcome, but a small part of her wanted to poke at him, make him as nervous as she felt just then. How dare he let her come over without any warning that Narcissa was going to be there? Even if she'd learned to forgive him for his past sins, the sins of his parents was another matter entirely.

_Stop it, Hermione_, her voice told her. _You can see he was just as surprised at her presence as you were. You know he never would have asked you to come over if he'd known she was going to be here, too. He just said he'd forgotten their floos were connected. So let it lie. You're here for Viola and Barclay anyway, not yourself. _

Hermione let out a small sigh and took a deep breath. She gripped Viola's hand a little more tightly as they watched Draco make last minute plans and put his coat back on before he turned to them, finally.

"We'll talk about that later, I promise," he said, looking at her intently. Hermione glanced away and shrugged. Draco decided not push his luck.

"Ready, Vi?" she asked. Viola nodded firmly, though her eyes held questions of her own, and Hermione looked back up at Draco. "Lead the way," she managed to say in a cheerful tone of voice.

Shackleton watched the three of them walk into the study, luggage and briefcase tucked safely under one of Draco's arms, and heard a second set of whooshes. Then he followed them in to tidy up the hearth. He didn't bother hoping they would have a nice time. He was sure that, whatever this evening would be, interesting was probably the best way to describe it. No evening that started out with a visit from Narcissa Malfoy ever warranted the adjective _nice_.

* * *

**AN: I took forever to write this because I wasn't happy with it. I actually got a third of the way through it before trashing it and starting all over. Ugh. So, here it is. I hope you like this next installment. I have big plans for the next couple of chapters!**


	49. No Small Comfort, Part 2

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_Some days it is a heroic act just to refuse the paralysis of fear and straighten up and step into another day.  
Edward Albert_

* * *

Ornella could tell something had happened the minute the three of them exited her fireplace. She could see it in their faces, the way Hermione was ignoring Draco, the way he was smiling tightly and the way the little one clung tightly to her mother's hand, frowning all the while. She dusted her hands off on her apron and welcomed them into the kitchen, ignoring all signs of discomfort. If they had a quarrel amongst themselves, tonight was not the night to indulge their fancies. Tonight was for Barclay, and Viola, and healing. Not for petty squabbles…though a small part of her was glad the two adults did not seem pleased with one another just then.

She did not hope to be attending a wedding anytime soon. She did not know if her heart could handle it…although it was not her heart that mattered. And Barclay missed his mother, dearly. Ornella shook her head even as she was taking Viola's other hand, leading her to the kitchen counter, asking if she wanted to help get dinner ready…explaining that Barclay would be in soon to help, too. She didn't give Draco or Hermione another glance. No, she found little joy in their match, but knew better than to voice her opinion. Hermione was a good woman, a kind mother and Draco could hardly do better. She knew better than to let her own grief deny their second chance at happiness.

If she'd had someone at her side after Pansy's father passed, she probably wouldn't have wanted to waste too much time on grieving, either. No…she didn't blame either of them, in theory.

Draco watched Ornella lead Viola to towards the counter-tops and the half-formed rolls she was baking to round off their meal. He smiled a little and turned to Hermione. As much as he'd detested seeing his mother; and as much as he knew Hermione would not let the visit drop; he was still looking forward to their evening together.

"I'll bring Barclay down. We'll see you in a moment."

Hermione looked from him back to Viola and chewed on her lower lip. "Er- I'll come with you."

Draco glanced over his shoulder, shrugged and motioned her forward. She stepped ahead of him through the doorway, suddenly nervous.

"Do I get a tour?" she asked, trying to be more at ease than she felt.

Draco smiled again and seemed to relax a little. "How about after dinner?"

"Draco, I need to know why your mother was at your house."

He stopped and ran a hand over his hair. "Can't that wait? I've had an awful week and it isn't over yet."

They'd left the kitchen and were standing in the front hallway. Hermione looked to her left and saw the parlor, or living room- whatever it was- standing empty. It also had the virtue of being farther from the kitchen. Right ahead of them lay the stairs leading up. Barclay was presumably upstairs now, napping to reserve his strength. Hermione looked back at Draco and shook her head.

"I think you should show me the parlor. We can talk in there. If you promise not to tell lies, it won't take very long."

"Hermione-"

"Come on," she said, grabbing his hand and dragging him into the sitting room.

* * *

It wasn't a large room, but was comfortable enough. There were several chairs, a few small tables with lamps and doilies on them, and a radio and book shelf stood in far corner. Hermione walked over to the shelf and began looking at titles, letting Draco find his footing before she bombarded him with anymore questions. He clearly didn't want to talk right now; she knew he would much rather see his son…but letting Barclay have a few extra minutes to himself to rest and relax wouldn't hurt anybody.

There was silence for a moment or two and then a frustrated groan sounded from behind her. Draco put his hand on her shoulder and she turned to look at him, waiting patiently.

"I didn't know she was coming to see me. I haven't seen her in so long that I'd forgotten our floos were still connected. I'm sorry you had to meet her; it was unavoidable."

"I'm not- well, I am upset, but not at you."

Relief washed over his face and he smiled again. "Thank you for understanding."

"Yes, well, it's one of my better qualities. What did she want?"

"It's really not your concern-"

"Draco," Hermione said more slowly, "what did she want?"

He brought a hand to his mouth and went silent for another few seconds before shrugging. "She wants us to move into the manor with her. Thinks it would be good for Barclay."

Hermione shivered and frowned. "And what about that place is good for a child?"

Draco sent a reprimanding look her way and wandered over to a chair, taking a seat. "It wasn't so awful. Oh, don't worry," he hastened to assure Hermione, "I have no intention of moving in there- not while she's still alive, anyhow. And stop glaring at me! First you're angry that she raised me and then you're upset that I'm speaking ill of her. Make up your mind, will you? It's very confusing, being around you!"

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He stood up again and faced her. "You send out mixed signals, that's all."

"Mixed signals? About what? I am a very straightforward person!"

"Right, if you're not condemning me for my past, you're judging my present decisions based on the life of your sainted husband."

"As if every one around you isn't still judging me based on my heritage."

"Please, Hermione, you think that's why Ornella doesn't like you?"

"I wasn't talking about Ornella, I was talking about your mother! And why doesn't Ornella like me?"

"Because she thinks I'm going to marry you without Pansy being in the ground two months!"

"That's ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed, suddenly very flustered. "As if I'd ever marry you, with your son reminding me everyday that Harry is dead and why-" she stopped dead as she realized what she'd just said.

In front of her, Draco's face had turned an interesting shade of pink. "I see," he managed to spit out. Hermione's jaw dropped open, ready to respond, to take it back, to apologize, but the look upon Draco's face made her shut it again.

After another minute of silence had gone by, Draco finally spoke again. "I told you we should have waited until after dinner," he said, a tight smile upon his face. "You still don't listen. You never did."

"Draco…" Hermione's voice trailed off. She lifted a hand, ready to run it through her curls, but remembered just in time that she had put her hair up especially for tonight. She gave him a pained look. "This isn't easy. I hated you for so long- for everything else, yes, but mainly because you'd forced me to care about you. And then, just when I'd managed to forget about you and live happily ever after, Harry-" she left off, too choked up to finish her sentence. She brought her hands up to her face, covering her eyes, willing the tears away.

There was a movement in front of her and she felt Draco putting his arms about her, pulling her into a gentle embrace. He let her cry on his shoulder for what felt like several minutes, though it was only a moment or two. She felt him bending his head, kissing her hair, her cheek.

"Shh. I'm sorry, too. I know you didn't mean it. Don't feel bad, please. If it means you care about me, I'll let you insult me all you like," he murmured against her skin.

His last remark drew a gurgled laugh from her and he smiled. "Come on, what other atrocious thoughts are you hiding? Ferret? Pathetic excuse for a wizard? Muggle hater? Or perhaps I'm a terrible father who works too much and didn't love his wife enough?"

Hermione jerked away from him and stared up at him, wiping her cheeks nervously. "I would never think that," she whispered. "You're a wonderful father."

"I'm not," he answered, shaking his head. "I loved Pansy, but I know what she thought of me. And I know what you've been thinking, too. What was it you told me? 'Perhaps if you'd spent a bit more time protecting your family instead of me…?'"

Hermione shook her head. "I never said anything like that, Draco-"

"No? Maybe not. Must've been someone else. That doesn't surprise me. It's true, anyways, isn't it?"

"Draco!"

"What? Look, Hermione, I found that letter from Pansy on your desk a few weeks ago. I should've told you that sooner; I'm sorry I didn't mention it. But you need to know that she was right."

Hermione trembled and lifted her gaze to his, forcing herself to look him in the eye. She wasn't sure what was going on between them just now, but whatever it was, it was important. If she backed away from it now, she wasn't sure they would ever talk about it again. And oh, how she wanted to talk to him about it. _No more regrets, Hermione. No matter how much it hurts, or how inappropriate it is…it's best to get the truth out there as soon as possible. If it's going to die or going to live, don't let it linger on its way there. _

"Right about what?" she asked quietly.

His eyes searched her face for any sign of fear, of confusion. All he saw was the desire to have the truth. He took a deep breath and answered her.

"About me. About us. I've never been able to take my eyes from you. Even when I'm sleeping, I see you in my dreams. I know it sounds ridiculous; I won't blame you for laughing. But I can't help myself. Even as I was learning to love Pansy, there was a part of my heart that belonged to you. You were so wrapped up in your own marriage that I doubt you noticed, but I know in the past several weeks you've felt it. Whatever it was that drew us together back then is at work now."

Hermione gave a strained laugh, but didn't look away. "'Whatever it was?' You mean you don't know the name for it?"

Draco shook his head and found himself stepping closer to her. She didn't move away. "No. What do you call it? Chemistry? Fate?"

"If it were only chemistry, it wouldn't have lasted this long," Hermione replied, lifting her chin so she could look up at him better. "And do you even believe in fate?"

He could see the vulnerability in her face, the way her shoulders were hunched forward, afraid he wouldn't take her seriously now. After all, he'd never listened to her back then. Why would he pay any attention at this point? It was unavoidable that they'd begun to understand one another, to be drawn together again, but the reaction was still too new for her to trust. Draco knew in his heart that the reason they were attracted was so much more than chemistry, or pheromones. It was because they were both strong willed people; because they both loved their work, loved their families; and because they each saw something in the other person that they couldn't be. She was kind and forthcoming when he wanted only to shut people out; he was honest and aggressive when she couldn't bear to be unkind.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and shook his head. "I used to believe in fate; to think that the path I was on was unavoidable…but then I met this girl who believed I was capable of more than how I'd been raised."

She let out a sharp laugh and looked down, away from his prying eyes. "I didn't teach you anything you didn't already know. Besides, Pansy was the reason you changed. Not me."

"But the only reason I even dreamt of changing was because someone had first believed I could. If you hadn't taught me a lesson all those years ago, I might have let Pansy die sooner than she did."

"You wouldn't have," Hermione insisted, lifting her eyes again. "She was a stronger woman than that."

"No, you're right," Draco replied. "If I hadn't left the Death Eaters with her, she would have escaped on her own. That's true, enough."

"Draco…"

"Don't canonize me, Hermione. I was a little bastard for a long time. I don't blame you for hating me. And if-" he seemed to struggle with himself to speak, going quiet for a moment.

Hermione waited for what he wanted to say, knowing it would be important and reluctant to let this intimacy between them end so soon. She knew they would have to leave the room eventually; from across the hall she could hear Ornella and Viola laughing together; the smell of food was drifting through the air; and Barclay would be missing his father. It would be time for dinner soon and their chance to talk would be gone, with no idea when they'd have another moment alone. She looked up at him, urging him to speak, to say what he had to.

He stared back at her, unsure of what to say, or if he should keep talking at all. It seemed like all their mutual acquaintance they'd either been talking, fighting, or not talking. He thought it was high time they leave those things behind them and take a leap of faith on what they'd once had, or _almost_ had. So the next words out of his mouth weren't exactly what Hermione was expecting.

"Oh, hell," he muttered, and brought his mouth down those last few inches to hers.

* * *

**AN: See, we're finally getting to the good stuff. :) Don't worry though, they won't have sex and forget about the play date. That would be bad continuity. You'll have to wait a little longer for the other good stuff. **


	50. No Small Comfort, Part 3

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise and make no profit from this fiction; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

_In such misfortunes my Mother was of an heroic spirit, in suffering patiently when there was no remedy, and being industrious where she thought she could help.  
-Margaret Cavendish_

* * *

Kissing Hermione was as divine as he'd remembered. She stiffened at first, but as soon as he began to ply her lips with his own, she relaxed and leaned into him. Her lips were smooth and warm and covered in a flavored gloss; the smell of her hair filled his nose as it tumbled from its already precarious up-do and her scent only reminded him of that moment in the photo booth so many years ago. She still smelled like cider- cinnamon and apples- and it was almost too much. He moved his hands from her shoulders and wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him, hardly daring to believe he was holding her after all that time. She seemed to feel his urgency and responded with her mouth, opening it as their breathing grew more erratic; and she moaned into his mouth as he gently slipped his tongue between her lips.

Hermione jumped in his arms at the electric shock she felt when his tongue touched hers and she abruptly pulled her head away. She was still wrapped in his arms, their bodies molded together so tightly she wondered that they could breathe, and his face was so close to hers, so full of the desire she knew she was still feeling…

"Draco," she breathed and his eyes fluttered shut as her breath touched his face. His arms loosened about her and she felt him letting go of her. She shook her head and he opened his eyes again, staring at her, trying to see what it was she wanted.

"That's not what I- Draco, kiss me again," she whispered, more urgently this time and a host of different emotions played about his face before he settled on determination. His lips met hers again, more gently this time, and she leaned into his kiss once more. She felt as if every nerve ending was on fire, as if they'd never stopped kissing one another all those years ago…and heaven help her if his tongue touched hers again. She wriggled against him and slid her arms up his chest, grasping his shirt front, drawing his head down further. She was standing on her tip toes against him, desperate to keep their contact; his fingers were digging into her sweater, urging her even closer…

"Mummy, Mummy! Come see what we made! Come see, come see!" came Viola's cries from the direction of the kitchen.

The spell was broken. The smell of freshly baked rolls was filling the house and Draco lifted his head, though his eyes didn't leave Hermione's face. They stood in each other's arms for another second more before he released her and they both straightened up. Hermione's hands went to her hair and she pinned it back and up once again while Draco smoothed out his shirt and ran a hand over his hair. His eyes were glassy, her cheeks were flushed and he was suddenly fearful that Ornella or Viola would walk in on them at any moment.

"I'll get Barclay," he murmured before giving her one more long look and then turning to head into the hall and up the stairs.

Hermione watched him go, one hand still at her hair, her lower lip between her teeth. She heard Viola call to her again and gave a shaky sigh. Her mind was still on sensory over load from the kiss, her nose only now readjusting to the smells around her, no longer filled with his breath- the scent of his aftershave. Her whole body gave a sharp tremble before she lowered her hands to her sides resolutely and moved forward, out of the sitting room. She hadn't come here tonight to be kissed senseless by Draco Malfoy, as nice (and confusing- or was the word illuminating?) as it had been. She was here for Barclay and for her daughter's sake…and perhaps for the sakes of the two little ones growing inside of her. That thought brought her up short and she paused right outside the dining room, where Viola was helping Ornella set the table. One hand rested on her belly and she looked down at it strangely. Would these two feel the same connection to Draco's son? Was the dynamic their two children were already building enough to grow a family and a marriage on?

She didn't know the answer to those questions. She wasn't sure she was ready to find out yet. The only things she knew for certain at that moment, as she hovered between rooms- between worlds, really- was that she loved her children. All of them. And she also loved Draco, despite the ache she still felt at losing Harry.

With a stiff upper lip, she lowered her hand again and joined her daughter at Ornella's side. The older woman didn't ask a single awkward question and the only look Viola gave her mother was one of adoration and love. Without further hesitation, Hermione began to ooh and ah at the funny shapes Viola had given the rolls and the evening finally continued as planned.

* * *

Draco paused at the top of the stairs, one hand on the railing, the other at his mouth. Had he really just kissed Hermione Potter as if his life depended on it? And had she kissed him back- no, more than that- she'd _asked _him to kiss her. His mind was thoroughly boggled and he felt like both the luckiest man alive and also the scummiest. His wife had been dead for less than two months and buried the ground less time than that; his son was having health problems and- worst of all- he was staying with his mother-in-law. He'd kissed Hermione senseless under Ornella's roof, after promising her he would respect Pansy's memory…after _promising_…

Draco Malfoy had trembled with fear and revulsion only a few times in his life, but standing on the landing, ready to walk into his son's room and take him to dinner with his _grandmother_, he suddenly felt ill, indeed. Weak in the knees, even.

Not that he was sure the feeling stemmed from disgust at himself…no, it could very well have been a delayed reaction to the kiss. After eleven- twelve, really- years of waiting and wishing and remembering her, to have her in his arms was earth shaking. Her kisses were everything he remembered them to be; her small frame that was so easily dominated by his; the fervor with which she tackled every aspect of her life still incredibly present in her lips...and knowing that she seemed to want him too, well, it changed everything, didn't it?

Except that his wife was still dead and his heart still grieved for her. If someone had ever told him that he would be in love, he would have scoffed at them in his youth. If they'd gone on to say that he would have so much room in his heart that he would love _two _women, he would have laughed at them outright. The idea that he would have love and honesty and a family some day had been pitiably ridiculous to him as a teenager, especially after the disappointment he'd suffered with Hermione…especially after serving that _man_.

No. They would have to wait. But he had a feeling it wouldn't be as painful this time. He wanted Hermione to truly get to know him first. He'd never given her the chance back then, they had been all teenage hormones and arms and legs and stupid, stupid passions all for the wrong reasons…she had been completely right to finally break things off. He knew that now and he wanted her to know he understood. He wanted her to know the new him, the _real _him. The father, the husband, the hard worker who respected muggles- who worked to protect them, day in and day out. The man who still loved her enough to wait as long as he had to in order for them to finally be together as whole people. He wasn't sure how long it would take, but he didn't mind. Pansy deserved that much from him…Harry deserved that much.

He slid his hand into his pocket as he moved forward to Barclay's door and fingered the card he'd slipped in it earlier. He'd had a visit from George that afternoon before he'd left for the day to discuss the trial and how the defense was moving along. At the end of the meeting, the older wizard had placed a card on his desk and gently recommended grief counseling. There was apparently a support group that met at Mungo's Sunday evenings. Maybe it was time he looked into something like that. He'd been to therapy before, after all. It wasn't a foreign concept. And while he didn't like the idea of sharing his life with a bunch of complete strangers, he understood the need to be able to speak freely, without fear of judgment.

With another shrug of his shoulders, he left the card in his pocket and pushed open the door of Barclay's room. There was time for planning later- not too much later, but time enough. Right now was supposed to be Barclay's moment and he intended for his son to have a pleasant, relaxed evening with family…because whatever he and Hermione became in the future, Viola was already family.

* * *

Barclay woke up as soon as his father touched his shoulder and allowed himself to be carried as far as the bottom of the staircase. He insisted on being put down after that- it would be embarrassing for Viola to see him being carried like he was still a _baby_. No, he was Viola's friend…maybe even her hero. Ever since he'd woken up from his coma he couldn't help but think of the day of the accident and her head on his shoulder.

He was six. He had no idea what these feelings were, he only knew that he adored her even more fiercely than he had before. He suspected it had something to do with her daddy saving him, but he knew better than to say those things to the grown-ups. They would never understand…although Viola's mum might. She was smarter than she let on. She could see the way he watched her daughter's every move, as if he wasn't always in control of his own body. It was strange, having someone else's magic running through him. Not all of it belonged to Viola's dad- he thought he felt his mum's energy sometimes, too…sometimes even other people- people he didn't know. Strangers. Like the time he thought he saw one of the men from the tube station standing at his hospital window.

Except he'd seen the man die- crushed by a train, just like his mum.

His Dad had tried to shield him from any pictures in the newspapers and magazines of the wreckage…and he hadn't talked to him at all about what his mum had looked like when they'd found them, but Barclay remembered. He could see it at night sometimes, when he went to sleep. Those nightmares were the worst- more awful than when he dreamed of Auror Potter. At least he had kept Barclay safe- had kept him cool and alive in the smoke and fire. With his mother there was nothing. She had been holding him securely one minute and the next he was flung from her arms as her body was ripped in two by a screaming hunk of metal.

He wished he didn't remember anything.

But tonight was different. He was making new memories with Viola and his family tonight. He would go to bed with a smile on his face and he was determined to stay strong so that he could be with them the whole time they were visiting. He knew he hadn't always been as nice to Viola as he ought, but that wasn't entirely his fault. She was so bossy and smart. She always acted like she knew better. Not to mention the number of times she'd stolen his juice box. Penchants for thievery aside, he liked her companionship. He preferred quiet and solitude and having his own way- it was refreshing to have someone bossing him about the way she did; chattering incessantly about nothing important. He liked it more than he let on.

So with as broad a smile on his face as he could muster, he preceded his dad into the dining room to find the table already set with dishes and silverware and steaming pots of food and terribly misshapen rolls. His dad walked right behind him, one hand hovering over his shoulder. He turned and gave his dad a raised eyebrow. Draco stifled a laugh when he saw it. How many times had he done that to his own parents?

Barclay frowned as if to say, "Knock it off, Dad! Not in front _her_!" and Draco took a step back, palms raised.

He gestured forward. "Well, here we are, everyone. Would you like to sit next to Viola, Barclay?"

Hermione glanced up from folding a napkin and smiled at the two of them. Draco tried not to let his gaze linger on her lips…and tried to ignore the fact that she avoided looking at him.

Viola squirmed from her seat and ran over to Barclay. She knew she was supposed to behave herself- stay calm, don't get excited…but what was she supposed to do when she hadn't seen her best friend in two weeks? When she knew she wouldn't see him at school again for another month, likely? She had to make good use of their time now.

The adults watched tensely as she reached out and grabbed his hands to drag him over to his seat. Instead of collapsing, he seemed to stand up straighter and his smile grew wider.

"Don't pull so hard, Vi," he said softly.

She immediately turned to look at him, a guilty expression on her face. Before she could apologize, though, Barclay shook his head.

"I just can't walk that fast yet," he explained shyly. Viola nodded, her eyes wide.

"Okay. I'm sorry. Come sit next to me, alright? Mummy said maybe I can come spend the night in another week or two. She and your grand mum were talking about it. Do you mind?"

Barclay smiled again. "I'd like that. Maybe I'll even let you use my new paints."

"Oh, no. Only outside, young man," Ornella spoke up. "Remember what happened to my teapot last week?"

Barclay squirmed a bit as he took his seat and Viola crawled up into the chair beside him. She looked around the table brightly.

"Can we eat now?"

Draco gave a small sigh of relief as they settled into the meal, though things were still a little tense. He had no doubt that Ornella had spent the last fifteen minutes scrutinizing Hermione, while Hermione…well, she was probably regretting kissing him.

_You don't know that_. _Stop second guessing yourself. She's done nothing but indicate interest. Things are awkward right now because it happened sooner than either of you were expecting and under your deceased wife's mother's roof. Of course she's avoiding looking at you. _Draco smiled at himself and looked across the table again to where Hermione was cutting up her daughter's lamb. His smile softened, became something between love and doubt.

* * *

Ornella, for her part, did her best to ignore the looks Draco sent Hermione whenever he thought no one was watching. She could tell that beneath the surface something was bothering him and it didn't necessarily have to do with the attractive woman at her dinner table. So after the meal was over she suggested that Draco help her with the dishes while Hermione took the children into the parlor.

Hermione gladly agreed and ushered Viola and Barclay out of the room. She took one of their hands in each of hers and smiled down at them.

"What would you like to do this evening?" she asked.

Barclay screwed up his face, thinking, but Viola immediately began talking again. "We could play a game- Uncle Neville showed me a new game with cards and marbles- or we could play with your paints like you said- Mummy, am I spending tonight? Because you said-"

"Okay, Viola, calm down. I did say you could, but in a few weeks, remember? Now why don't you ask Barclay what he would like to do?"

She led them into the parlor and took a seat, watching them carefully. Viola frowned a little, but turned to Barclay, hands behind her back, head hung.

"I'm sorry. What do you want to do, Barclay?"

Barclay smiled and walked over to a small cupboard in the room. Kneeling, he opened the doors and pulled out a brightly colored box. _Accio!_ the cover proclaimed in a loud shade of fuchsia.

"What's that, Barclay?" Hermione asked. It reminded her of the boxes her old board games had come in.

"It's a wizarding game- my mum got it for me last Christmas. Do you want to play, Viola? Look, to win you have to move your piece around the board and do what the cards tell you, like collect things," he explained while setting the game up. "And if you get stuck, you use the cards that say _accio_ to collect something that you can't reach, or another player has."

Viola wrinkled her nose, but one glance from her mother told her that she'd better play the game and like it. So she smiled brightly and sat on the floor next to him, immediately pulling the hot pink game piece from the box. "This will be fun," she said, but Barclay looked up from laying out the board.

"You don't want to play."

Viola glanced at him before taking her hot pink unicorn and marching it along the carpet. "I don't know. I've never played it before. But anything I do with you is fun, Barclay," she finished happily.

Barclay grinned at her and continued to pull out the game pieces. He looked up at Hermione. "Will you play, too, Miss Potter?"

Hermione smiled and slid off the sofa so that she was kneeling in front of them. "If you want me to," she said cautiously.

Barclay nodded. "Yes, please. I bet Viola cheats."

Hermione began to laugh until she saw the look of hurt on her daughter's face. Viola was glaring at Barclay.

"I do not cheat! You're a cheater, you cheater!"

Hermione sighed and reached a hand across to Viola, pulling her close just as Barclay reached towards her as well, in a gesture of apology and protest. His hand brushed Hermione's arm and he went still, his eyes wide. Viola settled back into her mother's lap, still pouting, and stared at Barclay.

"What's the matter?"

Barclay's mouth opened and closed a few times and Hermione began to call Draco's name when he finally spoke.

"You're having a baby- two babies!"

Hermione flushed and looked from Viola to Barclay and back before responding. "I am…how did you know that, sweetheart? Did your daddy tell you?"

Barclay began to look very uncomfortable and he stood up, letting the remaining pieces of the game fall to the floor. "I felt- I'm getting Dad. Do you want anything?"

Hermione tried not to let them see how disturbed she was. After all, she'd known that this was a possibility- that he might have a connection to any of Harry's children, not just Viola. Instead of answering him directly, she smiled and patted the floor beside her and Viola.

"Come sit down again, Barclay. Let's play the game for now, okay?" The underlying message was, _whatever you felt is okay. I don't mind at all. We love you just the way you are. _

Barclay eyed her for several seconds, trying to determine if she was alright or not. He thought she was. She was Vi's mom and kind, and thoughtful…and smart, like he'd already noticed. He liked her. He was glad his father liked her. But right now she seemed to understand him…a fact for which he was immensely grateful. There was no ill-will or judgment in her eyes, only acceptance.

He sat down again and gathered up the pieces he'd dropped before, still watching the mother and daughter silently.

Hermione smiled gently. "Why don't you tell us how to play, Barclay?"

He was quiet for only another moment as he set the pieces on the board and looked up at them again. Then another smile broke over his face and he began chattering away like nothing had happened.

* * *

Draco apologized to Ornella as much as he knew how, but by the time their words had run dry he knew that only one option really stood before them any more: it was time for him and Barclay to move back to their home.

"And you're doing this because of Narcissa? So that she's not jealous, is that it?"

"Ornella, I'm not taking Barclay away from you, you know that's not it. Look at him! He's practically well! I'll take a few days off work to help him readjust, if he needs it, and things will be back to normal. Look at how well he's done this evening!"

Ornella flung her dish towel on the kitchen counter and crossed her arms. She stood still, leaning against the sink, for a few moments before she finally nodded and turned around again. "I know," she muttered. "I've enjoyed having the two of you here too much. But I know it's not practical. And yes, he has to go back to school sometime."

Draco felt his shoulders relax with her acquiescence, but they tensed only a second later as she spoke again.

"But don't think I'm not aware of what's going on with that young woman. I know you love her. It's impossible to miss- Pansy told me once about a girl she was replacing and I never believed it until I saw you with Hermione. She's- she's a lovely woman, Draco. But for yourself, promise you'll be decent about all this. Please. For Barclay, too."

Draco sighed and put a hand over his eyes. "Ornella, if you only knew- I really don't think we need to worry about Barclay as much as you think we do. He's changed since the disaster. Whatever caused it- he's changed. He's still my son and your grandson…but he knows so much more than we're giving him credit for. He'll be okay, Ornella. I promise."

She smiled at him, her expression somewhat apologetic. "But will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Be okay, Draco. Will you be okay?"

Draco pulled his head back and gave her a strange look. "That shouldn't be your concern, Ornella. We've talked about this before."

"I know. But you hadn't had a good kiss before, either."

He felt a flush creep up his neck and turned away. "I'm going to be decent, Ornella, and that is all I will say about it. I'm not going to stand here discussing my potential- _possible_- future love life with my mother-in-law! It's morbid. Now may I please go play board games with my child and his playmate?"

Ornella shrugged and gestured. "I'm sorry. Now I'm being indecent. You're right, Draco. Pansy trusted you. I ought to as well. Go on, then. I'll be in with some hot chocolate in a few minutes."

Draco gave her one last glance and then walked out the door. Ornella watched him go, feeling sorry, but knowing that she needed to let him go. His loving Hermione wasn't a betrayal of what he'd had with Pansy. It was really an affirmation- that he was willing to wait despite the chemistry he still had with the other woman…that he'd had such a good life with Pansy that he wanted to recreate it. That he missed having her in bed next to him, missed the companionship. It wasn't entirely about Hermione at this stage- and no matter who he ended up with, it would be a different relationship, involving different feelings. One love didn't cancel out the other.

Sounds of laughter began to filter out of the living room.

Hot chocolate, on the other hand, cancelled out a multitude of sins. With a sigh, she poured out the hot milk and began to stir.

* * *

**AN: I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get this update out there. I've been super busy- still am, but I do have some good news. I passed my comps! As long as I pass all my exams, I will graduate!! WOOHOO! **

**I hope this chapter was somewhat worth the wait. There's no telling how long the rest will take, but I'm guessing at least ten chapters- probably more. **


	51. Tea and Cake Or Death!

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise and make no money off this fiction; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling. BLAH.**

**AN: This is pretty short, and I'm SORRY for taking so long to update. I really, truly am. But I had to update even with it at this length because I got worried that if I didn't update soon, Forgotten Things would atrophy and fall off my list of stories. SO. I have no intention of forgetting about it, I promise. (No matter how temptingly ironic that is.)**

* * *

_Freedom requires no effort to enjoy, but requires heroic efforts to preserve.  
-Richard G. Scott  
_

* * *

Hermione walked into the flat after Viola, turning to close and lock the door almost as soon as she was inside.

"Why don't you go find your pajamas, darling," she called as Vi ran ahead of her down the hall. "I'll be in to help with your buttons in a moment."

Viola gave an answering shout and disappeared around the corner of her bedroom door. Hermione watched her go fondly before she slipped off her pumps and set them on the shoe rack beside the hall table. She stood there for a brief moment, rubbing an ankle as Crookshanks made his appearance, tail raised disdainfully at the noisy intrusion.

"Oh, don't be a sour puss," Hermione muttered at him. "We weren't out all night. And don't act like you don't like having a little person around. You love it, I can tell."

Crookshanks gave her a curious stare, sniffed at her shoes a few times, then turned and sauntered back towards the master bedroom. Hermione laughed to herself and walked to her daughter's room, knocking on the door frame.

"Ready to get changed, darling?" She peeked inside and found Viola in a state of undress, her ruffled socks down about her ankles and her shirt pulled halfway over her head. She stifled a laugh and helped her off with the rest of it, then carefully buttoned her into her favorite pajamas.

"So you had fun tonight?" she asked, interrupting Viola's chatter.

"Mummy," she replied, a disapproving look on her face, "how can you even ask me that? Of course I had fun!"

"Right. Just checking. We'll do it again soon, I promise. Maybe even this weekend, if you're good."

"Can Barclay come here instead?"

"Well…maybe it's too soon for him to be away from home. But eventually, if you like. Hey, you have a birthday coming up in another month, don't you? Maybe, if you're very good, we can have a party here! What do you think?"

"Really? Can I invite anybody I like? Even Ann?"

"Who's Ann?"

"She eats my paste at school."

Hermione stifled another laugh and nodded. "Yes, but she won't be allowed to eat paste."

"Good. I don't like it when she does."

This time, at the look of distaste upon her daughter's face, she did laugh outright. After fifteen more minutes of making sure teeth were brushed and hair was braided and a light was left on, Hermione finally pulled the door partly closed and tiptoed away. She was on her way to the kitchen when Crookshanks brushed past her again.

_Shouldn't you be going to bed?_ he seemed to say. Hermione raised an eyebrow and pointed to the stack of papers on her small dining table.

"No, I have some work that needs doing if I want to have any weekend with my daughter at all. Besides, the twins are getting hungry for a second dinner," she muttered, putting a hand on her stomach. Crookshanks sniffed about her again and stalked over to the refrigerator. He gave one loud meow and sat back.

"And you're hungry too, I take it. Well, help me with this trial prep work and I'll feed you," she bargained. Then she opened the fridge and pulled out some leftovers. For some reason her morning schedule of eating was all off, but the twins certainly didn't mind her eating late at night. Sometimes she caught herself having as many as three small to moderate sized meals in one evening. It would've made her worry about her weight, but since she wasn't able to eat earlier than one most days she didn't see that it made much difference to her caloric intake.

And she wasn't very well going to starve herself. She'd never cared much about her looks before and they'd always taken care of themselves. Two more babies was not going to make much difference, she figured. Besides…the longer she sat up eating, the less time she had to spend in that big, empty bed alone. Still, it had been a pleasant evening, hadn't it? As long as she ignored the hippogriff in the room that was Draco's kiss.

With a sigh, she put down a saucer of some of the casserole for Crookshanks and forked the rest into a dish for herself. There was time to worry about her weight and health later. For now, she needed to get back to work on trial prep. Putting her food on the table beside her files, she settled into the chair, stuffed a pillow behind her back, and began to go through Hooper's preliminary reports. Really, the man was so efficient- he was just the kind of worker she needed right now to help her out. And with that thought, she got down to business.

* * *

George was seated at his mother's kitchen table, reviewing a list of possible suspects when Percy wandered down the stairs. He glanced up at his older brother and rolled his eyes. Percy sniffed and walked over to the teapot.

"What are you working on, _Vice-Minister_?"

"None of your business."

"Something to do with the trial?"

"Don't you have somewhere else to be, Percy? Like the ninth layer of Hell or something?"

Percy snorted and poured out some tepid water. "Been there. Mum's taking a break at the moment."

At that George looked up at him and snorted. His expression softened a little and he frowned. "Why are the one who's always getting into the worst trouble? Why can't you ever just set the house on fire like the rest of us did?"

"Now now, George. That's not what the really clever blokes do. We like to try and steal money from babies and clothing from orphans."

"Is that why I opted out of the clever pool?"

"Might be," Percy murmured over the edge of his teacup. "Look, is there anything I can help you with? I may be an idiot when it comes to managing the affairs of a country, but I'm rather good at small scale stuff."

It was the best apology Percy could make, in lieu of that fact that if he actually tried to say he was sorry, he'd only get beaten up by the garden gnomes again. George eyed him, then tossed a file across the table. "Have a seat," he said.

"Right. What am I looking for?"

"Employees at the ministry that have a personal score to settle with members of Muggle Relations."

Percy let out a low whistle. "That's not an easy pile to wade through."

"But that's why I've got you, right?" George asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Now get to work before I set the house on fire and tell mum you did it."

Percy immediately buried his nose in the paperwork and didn't stop digging through it for three hours straight. Only when George refilled his tea cup without being asked and gently closed the file lying under his nose did he look up and rub his eyes.

"You know, something is bothering me about all this," he murmured. George raised an eyebrow.

"Other than your own involvement?"

"Please, can we not argue right now? Stupid question, I know. But you invited me to help and I'm helping, so can you-"

"Alright. Point taken. But if you don't figure out what it is that's bothering you in three seconds I take it all back."

"It's Hooper," Percy blurted out. "I feel certain he worked at Gringotts before he came to the ministry, but it's not in his personnel file. I even remember the letter his goblin supervisor sent me, but it's not here anymore."

George frowned and sat down, pulling the file over to look at it himself. "Are you sure? Couldn't it have been someone else? Hooper's young- he wouldn't have had time to work another job after graduating before he came to us."

"Right, but remember that he was transferred into your department _after _he worked in our administrative offices first. So you wouldn't have seen his back record, necessarily."

George eyed Percy, who was shaking his head and rubbing his eyes again. "Look, Perce, thanks for your help, but you look tired. I'll check with my secretary in the morning about Gringotts and Hooper, if it makes you feel better."

"No, you're right- I'm probably just being paranoid. Not to mention I've been laying into dad's fire whiskey a bit too often these days. Look, sorry I can't be more help. I'll tackle these again in the morning. Thanks for the tea, George." He waved a hand at his brother and then wandered back up the stairs, muttering to himself about Hooper and Malfoy and goblins all the way up. George watched him go thoughtfully, then looked back at the file in his hands.

What if Percy was right? But Hooper had been such an asset to them all along…but Percy's credibility had been thoroughly ruined, so if Hooper _was _guilty of anything, Percy's memory would be discounted.

George put down his own tea cup and flipped the file closed. He stared at it a long time, then put it back on top of the stack of other files. If Percy was right and something was missing from it, it didn't necessarily indicate guilt on Hooper's part. Perhaps he'd have the aurors check it for spell tampering in the morning. His brother was right about one thing: in terms of large scale leadership he stunk, but when it came to the small stuff he was _brilliant_. Drunken sot or not, he owed Percy's opinion some consideration. He was his brother, after all.

* * *

**AN: Ta-da! Someone give me a cookie, please. No? Oh well, I tried.**


	52. Conspiracy, Normalcy, Balance

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and this isn't making me any money at all. Wonder why I'm still writing it, sometimes.**

* * *

_Home wasn't built in a day._

_-Jane Sherwood Ace_

* * *

Hermione arrived at work the next morning to find a cup of steaming breakfast tea on her desk. She stared at it a moment, puzzled, until she was interrupted by a cough from the doorway. She turned around to see Hooper standing there, a new stack of files under his arm.

"You?" she asked, gesturing at the cup. The younger wizard smiled bashfully and nodded his head.

"I thought you might need some. We have a long day ahead of us."

"Have you taken over my assistant's position, Hooper?" Hermione asked primly as she settled into her chair without thanking him. While she appreciated his help and thought he was extremely efficient, his behavior in the last week was starting to border on creepy. She'd had more than her fair share of adoring nerds in her life thus far and Hooper was definitely beginning to take on some of their tendencies. It would have been less than noticeable in the last few years because of how busy she'd been with the department and within her own marriage- and she would never have dreamed he was behaving untowardly in the last few months because of the wards business, but now? Now she was coming out of the haze of death and depression and noticing him more and it was starting to creep her out a bit.

In response to her question, he stiffened a bit and shook his head. "Er, no, Ms. Potter. I just- we're all trying to help as much as possible. I'm sorry if it's unwelcome."

Hermione felt bad then and shamed herself for overreacting. She was pregnant and grieving and was inclined to see suspicion even within her own office now- and when she'd just been thanking her lucky stars for Hooper the day before. She was the one being creepy, wasn't she? She smiled at him gently. "No, it's fine, Hooper. But I would rather have you focusing on your job and leaving my assistants to theirs. I appreciate the tea, really. Now, is that all?"

Hooper seemed placated and nodded before leaving, the files still tucked under his arm. He pulled her door to on his way out. Only Princzak, Hermione's assistant, gave him a passing glance as he walked by. She barely noticed the smirk on his face.

* * *

George owled his father and asked him to bring Percy by as soon as he could not thirty minutes after arriving at work that morning. He'd made a special delivery to the aurors the night before of Hooper's file and the results had been waiting for him as soon as he walked into his office. Now, his brother seated in front of him, he stared gravely at the papers.

"You were right about Hooper, Percy," he murmured. "But it still doesn't prove anything. We have a trial in three days and Muggle Relations is going to get put through the wringer if we don't get some kind of solid evidence."

"Well if you don't think Hooper's a candidate, then why am I here?"

George smiled tightly. "Because I want to know what it is about him that makes you suspicious."

"His file was tampered with!"

"Anyone could have done that."

"Yeah? Well guess what I found out this morning when you thought I was asleep?"

George gestured for him to go on and Percy leaned forward. "Hooper is one of five people working in close connection with Muggle Relations who had a parent or sibling taken out by Lucius Malfoy _personally_."

George sat up a little straighter. "Get out."

Percy seemed a little taken aback and actually started to stand when George let out a guffaw of awkward laughter and put out a hand. "No, no, you idiot. You know what I mean. Is that information public record?"

Percy settled back into his seat and nodded. "It is. Why, are you thinking someone may have gone to all this trouble to elaborately frame Hooper; maybe some of the other wizards and witches as well?"

"It's a possibility," George replied. "I'm going to speak with Hermione today; see if she's noticed any sort of odd behavior from him."

"What about the others?"

"Leave the list with me, I'll speak to their supervisors as well. For the rest of today, I want you to focus on those five as well. See if you can figure out who would benefit from framing them. Work on some conspiracy theories for me, would you?"

"Just me?"

"Just you."

Percy's face grew thoughtful and he scratched at his three-day stubble. "Why just me?"

"You're a git, Perce, but you're my brother. I'd like to see you redeem yourself, if you can, never mind that you're bloody brilliant- an idiot about it sometimes, but brilliant just the same. And, frankly, I'd like to keep this investigation under wraps as much as possible. I sent Hooper's file to the Aurors, but I didn't tell them why. No doubt they'll be whispering about it themselves, but there's no need to spread our suspicions around. Not when we're dealing with someone who, for whatever reasons, thought it was perfectly reasonable to allow half of London to be destroyed, killing thousands of innocent people in the process. Merlin only knows what else an individual like that has up his sleeve."

Percy stood up then, nodding in agreement. "I understand. Keep it quiet, then. Shall I keep working on it from home?"

"Yes. Here, have one of these- cell phone, handiest thing ever invented. At Draco's suggestion, we had them spelled so they'll receive signal underground. That's how I want you to reach me when you know anything."

Percy stared down at the small gadget in his hand. "How does it work?"

"Ask Dad to show you; he had Harry teach him a long time ago, now." George's face went soft for a moment and Percy was quiet as well. "Bugger," the younger brother finally murmured. "Don't suppose that will ever get any easier."

"Suppose not," Percy answered. They stood before each other silently, sadly for another minute and Percy finally cleared his throat. "Well, I'll be off then. Thanks for this, George. And…I'll figure it out for you. I swear I will."

"I know, Perce. I'll talk to you soon," George replied. He watched his brother go with a heavy heart, but confident that they would be able to put some ghosts to rest between the two of them. Somehow.

* * *

"In short, our paperwork is entirely in order," Hermione announced to the other witches and wizards. She'd gathered the staff of her department together for a meeting to go over things. As the trial was just after the weekend, she wanted everyone to be up to date on all information. She wasn't sure who might be called as witnesses, aside from herself and Hooper, but she figured it was best that everyone be prepared as possible. "Furthermore, we are completely blameless in the matter of the wards and the lives lost in catastrophe. I hope you will all take some time to review the write-up Hooper has been so good to prepare for us, so that we can hold our heads up high at the trial. Which is going to be Monday morning, starting at ten."

No one groaned or even batted an eyelash. Instead, after a polite round of applause acknowledging their coworkers' hard work, everyone stood and shuffled back towards their desks and offices. Hermione watched them go, satisfied with their performance. Everyone was working extra hard, taking cautions in their work and double checking every form and file that was processed. It was just the sort of good, conscientious behavior she liked to see in her employees- in other people, period.

"Hermione," a voice called and she looked over to see George walking into the department. Many of the witches and wizards greeted their former supervisor enthusiastically as they moved past him and he returned their smiles while making his way towards Hermione.

"George," she returned brightly.

"Feeling better today?" he said as he reached her and she smiled.

"Much. Oh, the morning sickness is still there, but Draco's spells have helped a great deal. Still, I'm not eating much for breakfast- don't want to risk it."

"Wonderful- that you're finding some balance, I mean. Listen, can I have a moment with you?"

"Sure, I got your memo a few minutes before we had the meeting. Come on in- you know the way," she laughed, gesturing towards her office. He preceded her inside and she shut the door behind them, then settled herself behind the desk. "Now, what is this about?"

"I just wanted to have a word with you about a couple of your employees. The administration is doing a review of some promising witches and wizards and we-"

"Cut the crap, George," Hermione interrupted, waving a hand. "I wasn't born yesterday. This is about our conversation the other day, isn't it? Well, let's hear it. What have you found out? Do you suspect someone in my department?"

George shook his head. "At least pretend that this is secret, please. I really don't want this getting around and our department- _your _department- while efficient and intelligent, is a bit of a gossip mill, let's be honest."

"Fine. What employees do you not suspect of anything whatsoever, then?"

George rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."

"You didn't hire me because of my looks," she returned, smiling.

"Well," George replied, finally taking a seat, "why don't you tell me about Princzak, to start with?"

"My assistant? She's wonderful. Why?"

"She's one of five our intelligence returned that has a personal tragedy associated directly with Lucius Malfoy."

Hermione gave a slight start at that. "Draco's father? Are you focusing on him?"

"He is the head of the department, the person of them who is most in the spotlight. It makes sense to assume that whoever is doing this- _if_ one of our own is behind it- would have a personal vendetta with someone in authority."

"I suppose you're right," Hermione allowed, leaning back in her seat. "But I don't like it."

"You don't have to," George replied. "I don't like it, for that matter, but it's a possibility. There are too many possibilities, in fact, but we're trying to narrow things down, starting with Draco and these five."

Hermione had an awful thought and her face went pale. "You don't suspect Draco, do you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," George scoffed. "I've got someone looking at all angles, but I can promise that no one thinks less of Malfoy, especially not after how you two saved the day. Which, if we could get back to the subject at hand, brings me to Hooper."

"What about him?" Hermione was instantly alert.

"Have you noticed any strange behavior lately?"

"Aside from being over-organized?"

"You know what I mean."

"Well, he has been…just this morning, I thought- I was being absurd, but-"

"Hermione."

"Well, alright. I thought he was being a bit creepy. Like Draco when I was pregnant creepy."

"You think he fancies you?"

"No, it's not exactly the same…rather unsettling, though. Don't you think it's just hormones on my part, though?"

George rubbed his chin. "Could be, but you've never been off, even when you are being a woman."

"George!" Hermione exclaimed, face flushing and he laughed at her.

"Sorry, sorry. Well, you've just put him at the top of the list."

"What, just because he's acting over-solicitous?"

"We don't have anything else to go on, do we?" George replied. "Besides, we don't have much time, either. I'll be working over the weekend, but for now this is the best we can do. I'll be in touch. Thanks, Hermione."

"You're welcome. Look, don't come take him away just yet, please? He's really very useful."

George smiled. "Now you're defending him? When he might be a mass murderer and conspirator?"

"I just can't see it," Hermione murmured, shaking her head. George stood up and walked to the door.

"Well, if you think of anything else, give me a call. I'll talk to you again soon. Don't worry too much about Draco, eh? I'll take care of him."

"I know, George. You're doing a fine job."

She waved at him as he went and then stared at the door once it was shut again. So, George suspected Hooper. Hermione drew out some paper and a pen and began to try and review Hooper's and Princzak's behaviors for the last several months, starting just before George began to worry seriously about the wards. She called her copies of their personnel files over to her and started to sift through them. If she was going to be fair to either of them, she needed to look at them both as suspects; it would allow her to see any behavior that might be suspicious in a new light as she hadn't been paying attention at all previously.

* * *

It took her until well into her lunch hour, but by the time she finished she felt she'd treated both cases as fairly (or unfairly, to be more accurate) as possible. Princzak, of course, turned up nothing. The woman was spotless. She'd even, Hermione had realized, been making cow eyes at one of the wizards in Muggle Relations for the last few months. So she, as she'd told George already, was not to be suspected. Of course, she supposed it was possible to view her assistant's attachment to the fellow as getting one foot in the enemy camp, so to speak, but she doubted the woman had that much cunning. After her own years at Hogwarts and then that hard year with Harry and the war, Hermione seriously doubted any woman of suspicious morals could avoid her powers of observation. Hadn't she herself been one of the best in her own time? No, she thought, she was too familiar with intrigue and secrets to not notice the same tricks at work in another woman. Another man, however…

With a sigh she took up Hooper's paper again. His behavior, up until the last few weeks, had been squeaky clean and _no one_'s behavior in the ministry was that clean. Not even her own. Hermione stared at the paper a moment more and set it back down again. She wasn't getting anywhere, not really, because every time she thought she'd pinpointed some suspicious activity on Hooper's part, she'd convince herself she was imagining the whole thing and think of how sweet and accommodating he'd been to her. She shook her head. She needed a break. She looked over at her inbox and was just reaching for a file on a good old fashioned cauldron explosion in Knockturn Alley when there was a light knock on her office door.

"Come in," she called out, not looking up from the file.

The door creaked open and Draco looked inside. "Am I interrupting?" he asked.

Hermione's head snapped up and she stared at him with wide eyes. "Yes- no. No, you're not. Please, come in. Er, leave the door open, if you don't mind," she said as she saw him shutting it behind him.

He stopped the movement and looked back at her. "I'd rather not, unless you want to discuss what happened last night in front of your entire office," he said, lowering his voice. A second later, his trademark smirk leapt into place. Hermione wished she could wipe it off. Or kiss it off. She shook her head, resisting the temptation to return his smile.

"Close it, then," she sighed. "How is trial prep going for your department?" she asked, superseding his choice of topic.

"Well, thanks," he replied easily, taking the seat before her. "Better than we'd anticipated. Our previous reputations aren't going to do us any favors, but our behavior since the war speaks well for most of us. At worst, we'll have an investigation ordered and maybe lose a man or two, but it looks like it can't be helped."

"You're taking it well," Hermione said dryly. "Better than you were."

"Well, I did kiss a beautiful woman last night," he responded.

"Draco!"

The smile fell from his face and he leaned forward. "I know and I'm sorry. I just- damn it, this is awkward." His voice fell away and he covered his eyes briefly. Hermione felt her heart constrict and she sighed again.

"If it helps any, I agree wholeheartedly." Her remark earned a laugh from him and looked up at her again.

"It does help, thanks. I actually wanted to- well, not apologize. I'm not sorry for what we still have between us, but I am sorry for the timing. We both need to take things more slowly, for now. It's only fair to everyone- our families and friends…our spouses. I think I promised you we could take things as slowly as needed, didn't I?"

"Not in so many words," Hermione allowed. "In your actions, yes. You've really been quite a gentleman, for the most part. And I wanted that kiss as much as you did, if I'm being honest with myself. But you're right. Slow is best. For all of us."

"Agreed. That said, can I take you to lunch?"

"Draco!" Hermione repeated, but there was laughter in her eyes this time. She quieted down just as quickly. "I don't understand how we can go from work to play to _serious_ so soon. I know loss, I'm so familiar with it, now, but I worry that my heart is being too practical about things sometimes."

"And I'm certain my heart is being nothing but impractical," Draco replied, a sad, wistful look on his face. "I love Pansy, still; I went to every length I could for her, but as soon as I saw you again, I…" his voice trailed off and he stood up. "This is no good. Come on, at least join me in the cafeteria. I'll buy."

After a moment's hesitation, Hermione stood up as well. "You'll do no such thing," she replied primly. "I'll buy and you can cry on my shoulder a bit more. It's nice to talk about it with someone else who knows what it's like."

"And no more awkward because I want to kiss you half the time and break your head the other half?"

"No," she said thoughtfully, "that actually makes it easier, I think. In fact, I think you should come to this group I've been attending," she said.

"A group?" Draco asked. He wondered if she was talking about the Mungo's support group; and as they escorted one another out of the department; and headed up the levels towards the cafeteria, he let her explain it to him…and talk him into going. Perhaps, he mused, getting to know one another as the adults they were would actually be fun. Healthy. _Good for them_. It was, admittedly, a new concept for him, but one he thought he'd enjoy exploring.

* * *

**AN: Hoo-wee! Another chapter and a pretty good one, at that! Isn't that something. Cookie, please. **


	53. Best Options

**Disclaimer: I don't own this or make a profit off of it or anything exciting, ever. (Sad!)**

* * *

_A man's growth is seen in the successive choirs of his friends._

_-Ralph Waldo Emerson_

* * *

"You've got to be joking, Perce," George said, sitting down hard. He stared at the report the other man had placed before him, astonished. Never mind that he was already tired and tense; it was two in the morning and he was still at work, after all; but now his older brother had gone and thrown him a real bludger.

"Do you think I'd joke about this?"

"No, but what is this, honestly? Are you still carrying some grudges? Got a thing for Hermione, what?"

Percy looked at his brother like he'd grown two heads. "Hermione? How does she even enter the equation- oh. OH. You mean she and Malfoy- but that's obscene! Harry's not even been gone- you know what, it's none of my business. You're not baiting me that easily." He sat down across from George. "No, I am not after Hermione, you perv, and I could care less who is, aside from Hooper since I still don't trust him. I'm not still carrying any grudges, for that matter, although I think you would be wise to carry a few of your own. You're too damned trusting for the prankster you are, you know that?"

George sighed and set the papers down. "I know, I know," he replied. "But…Draco?"

Percy sighed. "It's all conjecture, George. I didn't say I suspect the man. I'm just saying that it's a theory and it wouldn't be too far-fetched for the investigators to jump to the wrong conclusions. It wouldn't be the first time they did, would it?"

"No, that's true," George admitted. He frowned and looked back up at Percy. "So this is it? My only options are a completely goblin related scare, or an inside man setting up Muggle Relations, or a Muggle Relations man framing an inside man to set up the ministry?"

"Yes. Well, they're your best options, at any rate. You really don't want to hear the other crazy things I came up with. They're completely mental."

George looked at him with a strange gleam in his eyes. "Oh, I think I do want to hear them. If this is the best you can do…"

"Hey, you asked for it. I'm just being honest with you, for once. It's not my fault you hired a one man think tank."

"No, you're right, and I'm sorry for pressuring you. So, judging from what you've said, Hooper is still our best bet."

"I recommend you detain him immediately," Percy nodded.

"What? Hermione would kill me…he's apparently a saint for her department. I really don't want to do that to her right now, not when she's in such a state- twins, Viola, Malfoy, the trial, _Harry_…I can't do that to her. Can't you see it now?"

Percy shook his head. "And you thought I made a mistake three months ago…you'll regret it, George."

His younger brother's face grew grim and he stood up. "I may, but it's something I'll have to live with. How much damage can the man do over the week-end? He thinks he's practically won, after all. He won't do anything to jeopardize his position before the trial."

"Promise you'll do it first thing Monday, then?"

"First thing Monday," George promised. "Thanks, Percy. You've been a big help."

"I've been something, at least, which is more than I did before. Look, I'm sure things will turn out alright this time. I wish I could do more for you than I have, actually. I'm still trying to figure out what went wrong when I was in office. I was such a fool- and don't interrupt me, I know perfectly well what you all think of me. I know it's in me already to be a complete ass, but this was different. I should have listened to you, I should have seen the signs sooner and I didn't and I'm sorry." Percy paused and took a deep breath. "There. That's a proper apology. Don't you dare make me take it back."

George's eyes widened, bewildered. "I wasn't going to- actually, you're completely right, Percy. I can't believe I didn't think of it before. I mean, with emotions riding as high as they were and your previous record, well, it's no wonder we didn't think of it, but really-"

"What are you on about?"

"A spell, Percy. A spell. A hex, a charm, _something_."

"What…like- oh, you can't really think that. I mean, as nice as it would be for me to have my name cleared…there's no way you can test for something like that at this point, is there?"

"Bloody hell, yes there is. Come on, there'll be some aurors on duty tonight. We'll get them on it straight away." With that, George grasped Percy's upper arms and steered him out of his office and down the hallway. Clearly, their work would never be finished until they overturned every damned stone. And if his older brother's Confunded and Imperioused head didn't count as a stone, he didn't know what would.

* * *

While George, Percy and several disgruntled aurors worked tirelessly through the night and well into the next day, Hermione was busy getting a good night's sleep and wondering what to do with her Saturday. She woke up with a bee in her bonnet about something, but the dream was wispy and escaped her memory before she could even pull it out for review. Discouraged, she spent half the morning stomping about while she cleaned, ignoring Crookshanks' ploys to get her attention. Viola ignored her mummy's strange behavior by watching morning cartoons; but when the cat finally ran hissing from Hermione's path and straight into her lap; covering her in fur and making her lose her juice all over the floor; she decided she'd had enough.

"Mummy!" she exclaimed and Hermione stopped in her tracks.

"What is it? Oh, darling, I'm so sorry! Here, let's get a towel for that- oh, hell, I'm a witch, never mind," she babbled before flourishing her wand and sending the apple juice into oblivion…or wherever it was things went when they were cleaned with magic. Hermione still wasn't sure about that one. It would have taken another two years of Physical Magic to get it down and by that time the war had been in full swing.

"Mummy, you need to get out more," Viola declared rudely, sticking her nose in the air, arms akimbo and Hermione blinked at her a few times before dissolving into laughter. "I'm serious!" the little girl exclaimed, stamping her feet.

"Oh, I know you are, love, I just- whoo! Oh, Merlin, I'm a mess, aren't I?" Hermione hooted. Viola rolled her eyes and sat back down in front of the telly. It was clearly time to ignore her mum again.

Hermione sat on the couch behind her and let herself relax some. It had been a tense Friday, as much as she'd enjoyed seeing Draco. Though they were all in order for the trial, she couldn't help the nagging worry about Draco's department and Hooper. Something bad was going to happen, she could feel it. But then she'd just be sick and assume it was the pregnancy and not her sixth sense. Her mind drifted to yesterday's lunch. Friends…with Draco. It was a nice idea, it really was. Thoughtful, sweet. Adult. _Mature. _It practically made her sick again, just thinking about it. The truth was, though, that as confused as she was about her feelings, she knew he was right. They'd only ever been mortal enemies or star-crossed lovers. It was either at each other's necks or necking. There had to be some common ground, some balance, if they ever wanted things to work out in the long run. And there it was, the reason they were trying to be friends in the first place: because they wanted it to work out in the long run. That had been the unspoken agreement between them, starting yesterday. An acknowledgement that somehow meant even more than that passionate kiss.

Hermione liked it. It was responsible of them, she thought, and responsibility was definitely something that had always been a bit of a turn on for her. She smiled smugly, thinking of Draco's reactions to her. Apparently it was something he found exciting as well. Who would have thought? They had far more in common than she'd ever imagined, even given their tumultuous relationship a decade ago. She came out of her daze to find Viola twisted about on the floor, staring up at her.

"What is it, pumpkin?" she asked.

"You have a funny look on your face, Mummy."

"Do I?" Hermione's hand came up to her lips and found she was smirking. She laughed again. "Come on, let's get dressed. Would you like to go for a little trip today?"

Viola's eyes lit up. Time spent with her mummy was always better than watching cartoons. Her mummy was the best, after all.

"Where?" she asked, excited.

"It's a surprise," Hermione replied before scooping her up off the floor and carrying her back to the bedroom amidst giggles and squeals of protest. "Shower time!"

* * *

Draco padded down the stairs and into the kitchen to find Barclay up already and seated at the bar, legs dangling in the air. There was the smell of crepes in the air and Draco looked at his son suspiciously.

"And how did you get up there, young man?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Shackleton," Barclay replied, his wide blue eyes open and innocent. "He's making blueberry crepes!"

Draco's face creased into a smile and he swooped down to give his son a kiss on the forehead before he wandered over the busy house elf. "Crepes, eh?" he murmured, inspecting the pan. Shackleton held the skillet away from him, sniffing disdainfully.

"You can wait your turn with Master Barclay, over there if you please," he said imperiously, waving the spatula.

Draco laughed and moved away to join his son at the bar. "Alright, alright. I'm gone. So, how is everyone this morning?"

"Good," Barclay announced, digging into the first plate of crepes that the house elf set before him. The older creature looked over at Draco and winked before turning back around.

"Coffee, Sir?" he asked and Draco smiled.

"Of course. Wouldn't want to start the day without it. So, Barclay," he said, taking the cup handed him, "what do you want to do today, aside from stuff your face?"

"Da-ad!" he groaned around a mouthful of the pancakes and Draco let out a chuckle. He couldn't believe the good mood he was in, personally. It was like, after yesterday, the clouds had finally broken. He had a plan. Even thinking it was enough to make him smile. His new friendship was off on the right foot, his department was salvageable and he had made the decision to join the Mungo's group. He was being…proactive and it felt pretty great, despite the momentary lapses in mood. Like last night, after putting his son to sleep back in his own bed in the room Pansy had decorated, he'd stood in the doorway and watched him that extra moment before turning to his right. As if he expected to see Pansy standing there, smiling up at him after tucking their son in for the night. He'd almost leaned over before he remembered there weren't any lips there for him to kiss anymore.

There would be new lips, but it would never be the same…something he supposed he was actually very grateful for. The thought passed over his mind like a fleeting shadow, however and he was able to focus in on Barclay again easily enough. He would mourn the dead appropriately, he knew, but he also had to celebrate what was left: his son, a living testament to Pansy and their relationship. Just like he would honor Harry's memory by being a bloody gentleman about Hermione, for once. It was the only way to do things, no matter what his giddy-as-a-teenager hormones were telling him.

They had finished breakfast and Draco was helping Barclay struggle into a sweater when the doorbell rang.

"Shackleton!" Draco called as he held the sweater still while Barclay wriggled his arms into it. His little head had just popped through the top when the house elf appeared beside them.

"Visitors for you, Sir, in the front parlor." he said and disappeared again as quickly.

"But- oh, alright," Draco sighed. He took Barclay's hand and surveyed the boy's outfit. Blue sweater, brown courduroys…his son would never shame him in the pages of Witch's Weekly, of that much he was certain. Barclay stared up at him.

"Can I come too, Daddy?" he asked and Draco nodded.

"Of course. Got your shoes?"

Barclay held them up for inspection and then the two of them trudged down the stairs, Draco holding his son's hand as the boy jumped down every step. They were both laughing again by the time they reached the bottom and walked into the parlor, smiles on their faces, Barclay caught up in his father's arms as he pretended to make Quidditch noises.

"Draco?" came the hesitant, but happy voice of one of the visitors and he paused, Barclay hanging half out of his arms, giggling madly.

"Hermione!" he responded, surprised. Viola and Barclay both exclaimed at the same time and Draco quickly let his son down and watched him run over to the girl, taking her hand and dragging her over to the sofa. The children took seats right next to one another and Barclay immediately pulled a book off the table in front of them and began flipping through it, asking Viola if she'd seen it yet. Draco recognized it as one of the fairy tales Pansy had bought him a year ago and he felt his heart constrict a little before it settled down and he turned to face Hermione.

Hands in his pockets, he looked at her calmly, a smile still on his lips. "This is unexpected."

"Nonsense. This is what friends do, isn't it? Pop in on each other to make play dates with the kiddies?"

He raised his brows. "I guess you're right," he said slowly. "I hadn't thought of it that way, but yeah. Well, nice to see you, anyway."

"You, too," Hermione answered. She looked as at a loss for words as he felt and he smirked. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop it, Draco," she murmured, stepping forward and throwing her arms about his shoulders to hug him. "It is good to see you, and Barclay too." She hugged him tightly and he was stiff at first, then leaned forward and relaxed, putting his arms about her as well.

So…hugging Hermione was nice, too. He didn't have to snog her all the time in order to show affection. Grown up friends did hugs, didn't they? He smirked again as he pulled away and surveyed her. She seemed to grow self-conscious for a moment before making a visible effort to shrug it off. They wanted to be comfortable with one another, didn't they? Well, grown women didn't blush like little girls when a man stared at them in a friendly manner.

"So, I hope it's not a problem that we're here," Hermione offered. "Vi and I wanted to get out of the flat and we were on our way to the park when she mentioned Barclay for the eleventh time, so…"

"Here you are," Draco supplied. "No, it's not a problem. He's been making leaps and bounds since the other night, actually. Still needs a bit of a nap in the middle of the day, but we're going to work that out with the school nurse. So he should be able to start back next week. It was amazing, how well he was yesterday morning. I think more time with Viola is just the thing, actually."

"Oh, wonderful," Hermione sighed. "I was worried about that. She's so attached to him…"

"She is, isn't she? He's a complete sot for her."

The same thought struck them and they turned to look at each other, brows raised in concern.

"You don't think-"

"I'm not going to think about it at the moment, no," Draco replied firmly. "They're babies. Although when I was his age…"

"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed before stifling a laugh. "Alright, well…we really wanted to know if you'd like to come to the park with us. Ginny and Neville are meeting us there for lunch after a while."

"Hmm…spend time with you and your watchdogs? No, thank you." He spared a glance at her and saw her frowning at him dangerously. "Kidding! It sounds lovely, actually. I'll let Shackleton know."

"Wonderful," Hermione breathed with relief. "I already told them you would and I was worried of you said no that I'd have to eat double."

"Aren't you doing that already?" Draco said slyly, eyeing her as he walked to the door.

"_Draco_!" Hermione flushed to the roots of her hair. She had the feeling she was going to be very tired of his name by the end of the day. Draco, on the other hand, had the feeling he'd never get tired of the way she said it.

* * *

**AN: I went to see HBP today and was inspired. OMG, I love Draco. Was Tom Felton not fabulous? So introspective! So subtle! So obviously in pain and needing a cuddle! I LOVED it. For the most part. I have to admit that I was a bit squidgy on some of the changes they made and yet they didn't change that stupid, dumbass cave scene with the drinking of the poison and the water and the zombies. I wanted ZOMBIES, man. Like, NotLD zombies. Bloody Inferi (sp?). Not nearly as interesting. Still, that part beat watching Harry drag the shiny, crystalized oyster shell to and from Dumbledore. That was...special.**

**And...cookie!**


	54. Carefree Costs

**I don't own Harry Potter! Sad me.**

* * *

_Pray you now, forget and forgive._

_-Shakespeare, King Lear_

* * *

Draco leaned against the tree they'd spread the blanket under and watched anxiously as Barclay ran about with Viola and Ronald, shrieking and smiling happily as they played a raucous game of tag. Hermione touched his shoulder and he turned to smile at her tightly, but his shoulders didn't relax, despite his carefree pose.

Barclay may have been doing much better, but did the boy really need to keep tumbling on the grass that way? And did Viola need to pounce on him so? And was Ronald really going to-

"Ronald, don't rough house too much!" Ginny called and the little red head held back from joining Viola's impromptu pile-up on the small blond boy. She shot Draco an understanding grin and he smiled back.

"Thank you," he breathed out and finally felt his shoulders release their tension. Hermione took her hand away and passed him a bottle of something.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Lemonade."

"Ah. Believe it or not, I know what that is."

"I never said you didn't," she replied evenly. Then she patted him on the shoulder again and moved over to talk to Ginny in soft tones. He watched her go for a moment, a smile playing about his lips before he looked back to the children. Now they were tossing a disc around in the brisk air and looking rather pleased with themselves. They all looked so much like their parents that Draco felt a tug of nostalgia. What would his life had been like, he wondered, if he'd been friends with the Weasleys and the Grangers or Potters when he was a boy?

It was useless dreaming, he knew. But what if? If he'd been allowed to be friends with other kids the way his own son was now running around- carefree, happy, innocent. There would be no blot of prejudice or unfounded hatred and anger on his own son's life. He and Pansy had vowed that a long time ago. But seeing it coming to fruition now, without her…he didn't know what to feel. How to feel. Someone moved in and sat next to him and he looked over to see Neville sitting there, smiling out at the same scene he was.

"What I wouldn't give to be that age again, eh?" he said, jostling Draco's shoulder a bit.

"To be them, I think, actually," Draco replied. "My own childhood…there were good moments. There are always good moments. And my parents loved me, but it was tempered. Everything was colored by who they were and what they felt their destiny was."

"I know what you mean," Neville agreed. "Merlin knows being raised by Gran was difficult…but I still wouldn't trade it for anything. I'm proud of who I am. Now I just want to see him grow up to feel the same," he said, nodding at Ronald's form as he ran through the grass of the park.

Draco squinted thoughtfully. "I'm not sure how I feel. How I ought to feel."

"You should be proud, too, Draco," Neville said. "Your parents…they did what they thought was right, out of love for you. And you've done more than make up for things, haven't you?"

"Have I?" Draco replied, tilting his head to look at his companion. The tall brunette looked over at him and shrugged.

"What do you think?"

Draco looked away, his gaze taking in Hermione and then the children once again. "I guess I have." He felt the grip on his heart ease a little and knew Pansy had been proud of him, too. That should have told him all he needed to know. He was loved…and forgiven.

Neville nodded reasonably and took a sip of his own drink before he set it down suddenly and got to his feet. "Hey! Ronald, don't you dare eat that!" Then he was off the blanket and running for the group of children and Draco grinned stupidly, put down his own drink and ran after him.

Hermione and Ginny looked over at them quickly before turning back to each other. "I don't know how that child is still alive, honestly," Ginny huffed a bit, rolling her eyes. "He puts more things in his mouth than come out the other end."

Hermione wrinkled her nose and laughed. "Gin! Well, I'm lucky Vi never felt it necessary to follow suit."

"She has that charmer Barclay as a role model, of course she's well behaved."

"Right. And I'm the Queen of Sheba."

"Well…better behaved than Ronald, at least," Ginny pointed out, laughing. She bounced one of the twins on her lap a little and the toddler looked up at her brightly. Hermione smiled indulgently and looked down at the twin in her own arms.

"So, any tips?"

"For raising twins? None. _Constant vigilance_," she quoted in her best McGonagall impression and Hermione laughed again.

"Lord, don't remind me of that. Those were the days, weren't they?"

"They were certainly some sort of days. I wouldn't repeat them if you paid me."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"He's changed, hasn't he?"

Hermione glanced up from tugging her necklace from the baby's mouth and looked confused. "Who?"

"Draco," Ginny replied, nodding in the direction of the men and children. They were taking turns pretending to be aurors, now, held aloft by Draco and Neville. That or fighter pilots, Hermione wasn't sure which. "I mean, really changed," Ginny continued. "Not just grown up and started a family- those are the sorts of things anyone might do. But he's different."

Hermione lost track of time for a moment as she gazed at him, seeing what Ginny saw. Her friend was perfectly right, of course. It tugged at her own heart, knowing how true it was. After all, how many times had she wished, that Fall so many years ago, for him to be the way he was now? Free from the prejudices and falsehoods of his youth and family; free from the marks of dark magic; able to live in harmony with muggles and anyone, really. Able to love as freely. Face relaxed, every bone in his body shouting how glad he was to be alive, to have a son and a normal job and all the things he'd been told were plebian and ludicrous, growing up.

And now he was all those things, but at what cost? It had been a hard road for him to arrive there and Hermione wasn't sure how much damage he'd sustained. Still, she wasn't without scars, herself. And they were both willing to be friends and learn to love slowly and simply, despite it all. That had to mean something.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked, bringing her out of her reverie. "Where were you?"

"About a decade back," she admitted. "And you're right. He's changed. We both have."

Ginny nodded knowingly. "Of course you have. So, tell me how your last appointment went. I'm sorry I couldn't be there."

Hermione waved her hand, brushing away Ginny's apology and went on to share about her last doctor visit. There was time for revelation and speculation later. Today was for having fun and enjoying a free Saturday at the park, with friends and family.

* * *

The aurors assigned to Hooper had an uneventful weekend.

* * *

Percy and George did not have an uneventful weekend. The aurors George had hijacked for Percy's case found traces of a delayed-release Confundus Charm in addition to evidence of an Obliviation or two. Neither took it as a good sign, although it eased both of them considerably to know that Percy had not been a complete ass on purpose, this time. They made short work of presenting the information to the minister, too, who took the news very seriously.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Weasley," she said as she looked at Percy. "It appears I owe you an apology."

He waved his hand. "None taken. I was in over my head with the job anyway and I'm more than happy to stay where I am at the moment."

"Still, I'll make sure your record is expunged accordingly.""

George frowned. "He'll have to sit at the trial, however. We'll need his testimony to help make a case against the goblins and whomever was behind it from the inside."

"So you still think one of our own did this?" Melusine asked carefully.

"There's no doubt in my mind, nor in Percy's," George replied. "The aurors are keeping an eye on our main suspect at the moment, in addition to running more tests on the evidence against him."

"Well make sure all this news is on my desk by the time the trial starts, or I can't promise I'll be much help from the bench. And for God's sake, don't tell me anything. I don't want to know until you have enough to put whomever it is away for a very long time."

"It'll be there, trust me," George replied. "We're not going to jeopardize things for our side."

Melusine nodded and then reached over and shook Percy's hand. "Well, Mister Weasley, I hope you'll let me know if you need a job in the near future."

"Thank you, Minister, but that won't be necessary. I've actually decided to stay out of politics for a while, if you can believe," the other red-head responded with a tight smile on his face.

"I believe it," she replied, smiling herself. Then she turned and said her goodbyes to George as well before both men walked from her office.

"Did you mean that?" George asked his brother as they walked. "About leaving politics?"

Percy glanced over at him. "Sure. Why not? You know Hogwarts will need a new Charms professor soon."

George snorted. "You? Teaching Charms?"

"I talked to McGonagall about it already, actually. Looks like I'm in as long as the bugger in there right now keeps doing the job he is."

"Really? Well," George said. "Well. That's quite a departure for you, Perce. I'm happy for you, as long as you think you'll be happy."

"I think I can safely say, George, after the year I've had, that I would be happy mucking stables as long as it kept me out of trouble," Percy replied honestly.

George clapped a hand on his shoulder and smiled broadly. "That can be arranged to, I'm sure, but I'll just wish you luck with Charms and leave it at that."

* * *

Hermione awoke on Sunday morning to find Viola tucked into the bed next to her, snuggled against her side and she smiled softly before hugging the small body. Then she promptly began to tickle her. Viola's eyes flew open and then squeezed shut again as she began to shriek with laughter.

"Mummy!" she giggled as she twisted back and forth, trying to escape her mother's grasp. Hermione finally relented and pulled her back into the curve of her body and Viola looked up at her adoringly. "I love you, Mummy," she whispered as her small hands traced their way over Hermione's burgeoning middle. "How long until I get to see them?" she asked, mouth screwed up with curiosity.

"Not for a while, darling," she replied. "Next Spring. When the Tulips are out."

Viola smiled softly in an expression that tugged at Hermione's heart and stared at the bump as she continued to caress it. "Will Daddy be able to see them?" She looked back up at her mother and Hermione's lips curved into a bittersweet smile of her own.

"From where he is, sweetheart," she replied and stroked Viola's hair. Vi nodded again and looked back at Hermione's stomach.

"Hi," she whispered to it. "I'm going to be the best sister in the whole world. Just wait."

Hermione thought she might cry and she was suddenly glad she had her support group that evening. She let Viola pet her stomach a little longer before she swooped in to tickle her again.

"Want to go grocery shopping with me before we go to Grandma Weasley's?"

"Yeah!" The nearly five year old bounced up from the bed and crawled down before running to the bathroom. Hermione laughed and followed her, eager to start the day. She loved the sweet, unexpected moments she was experiencing with her daughter, there was no denying that. Harry's passing had changed their relationship in an undeniable way- in a good way, if it was possible. But it didn't make moments like the one they'd just had any easier to accept. Her heart hurt for her daughter and for the tiny lives inside of her. They would never know Harry the way she wanted them to. All the twins, especially, would have of their father would be pictures and the memories others shared with them. Memories she would share with them.

How would she ever help them know their father the way she wanted? The way he'd wanted? Someday they would be teenagers, and then adults, but they would never be able to talk to their father the way a child learns to when he's grown. They would never benefit from the lessons and advice he could have given them. All those things would have to come from her, now...and maybe their grandparents and Weasley god-parents.

And maybe, if she was very lucky someday, from another man who was as good as Harry had been. She sighed and spread her hand over the rumpled bed sheets. Viola reappeared in the bathroom doorway and stared at her mother, stomping her feet some.

"Mummy! We have to get ready to _go_."

Hermione looked back up and smiled as brightly as she could. "Is that right? Well, I hope you're ready…to take a shower with the tickle monster!" With a growl she swept across the room towards Vi, her arms outstretched and fingers waving. Viola shrieked again and disappeared back into the bathroom, Hermione following close behind.

* * *

Draco watched Hermione carefully from across the room at the support group. The session had broken for a coffee break and the various singles were mingling with one another. Some women were hugging each other; the men sat quietly staring at each other warily, as if to dare the other men to even attempt telling anyone outside the group about their presence.

It was obviously going to be difficult for more than one person to open up about his and her experiences. The whole situation felt awkward and strained, and yet it was nice just to be in the same room with other people who were just as broken and grief-stricken as he was. It was pleasantly uncomfortable, if that was possible. Still, Hermione hadn't spoken a word. She looked very pale and tight-lipped, as if she'd been dragged to the meeting.

Draco knew perfectly well she hadn't been dragged- hadn't they just been talking about it the other day at work? Yet she hadn't spoken two words in the same breath since the meeting had started and he suspected that while she saw the necessity of going, she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it yet- about sharing. Well, he understood that, at least. He walked over to her, his hands in his pockets, and nodded at the door.

"Going to go check on Vi?" he asked. Those who brought children with them could leave them with some nursery workers and volunteers in a room right down the hall from the one they met in. He'd opted to leave Barclay with Ornella for the evening, rather than leave him with some strangers. The boy had been fine for two days, but one never knew…

Hermione looked up at him and finally smiled. "No…she's with Gin and Neville. How about Barclay?" she asked in return as Draco looked at the empty seat next to her and then sat down.

"He's with Ornella."

"Oh," Hermione replied. They both fell to silence and looked about themselves.

"So, you're awfully quiet," he finally said and she looked over at him, almost startled that he'd spoken again.

"I am," she admitted. "I spoke the last time. You should try speaking," she encouraged, turning to face him, looking hopeful.

He shook his head. "Oh, no. No thanks. I- I'm no good at this."

Her mouth cracked into something resembling a smile. "You never were, were you?"

"What?"

"Good at sharing your feelings," she replied. He narrowed his eyes.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

She settled back into her seat without replying and in another moment the leader was calling everyone back to their seats. The woman who'd originally been in Draco's seat looked at him curiously, but moved over a chair without comment. He turned his attention to the next person who began to share and decided that it was enough, for him, just to be sitting next to a- a friend while his heart broke and re-healed all over again, listening to the stories others told. It was enough to forget about the tensions at work and the impending trial and just feel, for a bit.

Hermione snuck a glance at him and smiled a little. His brow was lightly furrowed while he listened and his eyes were suspiciously bright. She very nearly reached over to take his hand, but thought better of it. He was here of his own accord, after all. They were friends, but their healing wouldn't be the same. They were no longer the same, after all.

But it was enough.

* * *

**AN: Cookie? Pleeeease? **


	55. Called Upon Again

**I own no part of HP blah blah blah! As if dear J.K. could possibly need anymore money, anyway. Still, I'm not making a profit.**

* * *

_Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace._

_-Amelia Earhart_

* * *

And then they all died.

_Just joking_.

* * *

Whatever Draco had been expecting after his relaxing and pleasant weekend, it was not this. To arrive at the ministry early Monday morning only to have George immediately seek him out and take him aside and get him to put his bloody life on the line for a ministry that didn't even care about him-

He looked George flat in the face. "You're insane," he said coolly.

"Draco, old buddy, old pal- dearest and best friend in the entire world-"

"Do go on," Draco crooned back. "And while you're at it, remind yourself that half my department is about to be crucified and that we never got our promised raises last year, despite the fact that we put in long hours and exemplary work."

George sighed dismally. He wouldn't be asking this of Malfoy, he really wouldn't, except Hooper was a bloody prat who'd managed to out-weasel even Percy's nose for trouble. The aurors simply needed that last shred of evidence before they could do anything about it; before Melusine could do anything about it. And he'd talked to her, tried to talk her into just arresting the bastard outright, but _noooo_, she'd had to go all noble on him; and cite the mess the ministry had made of things years ago by moving against people without the proper evidence; and _look_ where it'd gotten them: people like Sirius Black in jail for years, perfect murderers waltzing about the streets because they hadn't used due process…it would not happen under her watch, she'd promised George.

He rather thought nothing would happen under her watch if that was how she was going to handle things, but he refrained from telling her that. He was just upset, after all and tensions were high and now their only chance at tripping Hooper up- or whomever was behind it- was by laying a trap.

He clasped his hands together. "Malfoy, I wouldn't ask if I didn't have to."

Draco sighed this time and ran a hand down his face. "I hate you, Weasley."

"I don't blame you a bit."

"And it'll be perfectly controlled?"

"Well, we'll have to make it look good, but you understand-"

"Shut it. Fine, I'm in. But if anything happens to my family because of this-"

George put a hand on his shoulder. "Draco, I promise that it won't last that long. I swear. It's just that we know he's got something up his sleeve and we have to catch him red-handed."

"Fine," Draco repeated. "Just…tell me what you want, quickly. I have to get to my department, make sure things are in order one last time."

"I understand. Okay, here's what we think might happen, if you can stand it…"

* * *

The trial was a circus, Hermione thought angrily to herself as she walked into her office during the second recess called that day. They'd been at it since nine in the bloody morning and here it was, one o'clock and still no bloody resolution. But the Wizengamot was determined to have an end to the entire thing in one day or they'd all eat their ridiculous, pompous hats. Not that she blamed them, really. She didn't want to have to come back the next day, either, but still…it's not as if the seats were comfortable, and no amount of cushioning charms could help her sore back now. She hadn't even had a chance to talk to Draco or George before the thing started, though they'd been off somewhere yattering on their own, she was certain. George didn't get that sly look on his face for nothing.

With a sigh she sat down at her desk and shuffled some papers around before a knock on her door sounded.

"Yes?" she asked and saw Hooper push the door open with an apologetic smile.

"Princzak thought you might need some food," he offered, holding out a plate with a half sandwich on it.

"Oh," she murmured. "That's, er, very thoughtful. Just put it over there," she waved vaguely at the corner table in her office and he set it down quickly.

"I thought that portion went well," he said judiciously as he turned back to her and she looked at him, startled.

_Well_? If his definition of something going well involved goblins crawling over one another as they shouted that they wanted to fire their attorneys and the minister needlessly reprimanded half of Draco's department for defending themselves against the nasty beasts…honestly, she was all for magical creatures' rights, but the goblins were just being _nasty_.

She gave a wry laugh and looked back at her paperwork before George's words entered her mind again. They were suspicious of Hooper…they were watching him. She cast another glance at him. He was looking at her eagerly, as if expecting her to agree.

"You know," she began, deciding to try a different tactic, "I'm worried."

"Why's that?"

"Well, we do work closely with Muggle Relations. As George's second for a long time, I've had more contact with Malfoy and his team than half our department. If they're implicated in anything, it's likely to fall to me as well. I just don't know if I could handle that right now, what with…well. I'm so tired of all this," she finished softly, covering her eyes.

Hooper lapped it up.

"Oh, no, Ms. Potter-"

"Hermione, Hooper, please."

He flushed. "Hermione." Then his face grew stern. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you. If Malfoy goes down, he won't take you with him this time."

Hermione thought she might be ill, but she smiled at him anyway. "Thank you, Hooper. That's very sweet. And thanks for the sandwich. I guess I should eat before the recess is over."

Hooper's bashfulness returned as suddenly as it had gone and he nodded at her one last time before he left, shutting her door behind him. Hermione sat, staring after him for sometime, wasting the minutes she had left before the trial restarted. Then she got up, dumped the half sandwich in the bin, and walked out the door, locking it securely after.

* * *

George heard Hermione coming before he saw her and he turned around, a smile pasted to his face.

"Hermione, love! What can I do for you?"

"What you can do is tell me what the hell you and Draco were on about earlier. I just had a very disturbing conversation with Hooper and I think I ought to know what you know."

George's face turned serious immediately. "How disturbing?"

"Quite," she said crisply. "I remembered what you said and decided to bait him a little and do you know what he told me? He said that _he _promised he wouldn't let anything happen to me and that if _Malfoy_ went down I wouldn't go with him _this time_." She paused and took a breath, bitterly triumphant. "What do you think of _that_?"

"I think," George began, casting a glance in her department's direction as people filtered back into the stands, "that Hooper has just gotten a lot more interesting."

"What does that mean, George? Do you think he's really targeting Draco? Or just the entire department? I mean, how do we even know he is who he says he is? You can't keep me in the dark on this, George!" she exclaimed, punctuating each word with a sharp jab at his arm.

"Watch it, Hermione," he said as he rubbed his arm. "And I can't say anything else. Draco will be fine, I swear. Just…don't worry about things, alright? You need to focus when you go in there. Your department is on the line too, no matter what Hooper says."

"I know that," she retorted, narrowing her eyes. "But if he tries anything-" She made a furious gesture and then stomped away to sit with her people as they prepared themselves one last time for the stand.

George watched her go, still rubbing his arm. "Actually, we're hoping he does," he whispered after her. Then he turned and moved to take his seat on the council.

* * *

The trial. How to describe it? Draco thought he might heave if he had to sit through another four hours of the freak-show. The goblins were surly and indignant at being put on the stand; their attorneys were surly and indignant at being forced to represent them; his department was surly and indignant at the evident lack of trust people still harbored against them; and the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot were surly and indignant at being forced to preside over a trial composed of nothing _but_ surly and indignant people.

He rather wanted to claw his eyes out, but being a single father was going to be hard enough without adding blindness on the pile.

At least his department was done presenting and Hermione's was up. And the minister had done her best to sway her cohorts to be fair when it came to his own. Although it was clear most of those on the council disliked himself and the rest of his workers, they'd been forced to agree that his people were innocent. If the goblins hadn't gone first and their involvement made obvious, he doubted they would have been as understanding. Still, it was strange that they'd gotten off so easily and it made him somewhat anxious. Wasn't there always a calm before a storm?

He watched as Hermione took the seat first, after Dearborn had called the trial back to order. He could admit that while he was relieved his department wasn't going to suffer much, he was feeling nerves from her being on the stand. She was in a delicate state, after all- not that she saw it that way. In fact, she was likely to hex him if she thought he was worried for her. That they shouldn't have put her in the hot seat that way, in her condition.

Draco shook his head lightly and almost as if she knew he was thinking of her, Hermione turned her head and glanced at him. Their eyes caught and held for a moment and then she was back in the trial, answering questions. Calm and collected, but for the flush in her cheeks. Nerves. Had to be nerves.

Like the ones he had right now, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Something was going happen with her department, he knew it. George had prepared him for as much, hadn't he? And while his department hadn't suffered from the stand, the mistrust for his people pervaded the chamber. Hell, it pervaded the entire ministry. So if something were to happen, it would happen now, and it would come from Hermione's perfect, goody-two-shoes employees. He swept his eyes over the rest of her workers, looking for the Judas amongst them.

He hoped that, whatever was coming, it wouldn't take very long. The goblins were beginning to grumble again and he really didn't want to have the aurors shooting him dark glances as he shot defensive spells against the buggers again.

If the council wasn't careful, they were going to have more than surly and indignant on their hands. They were going to have a mess so large it demanded a retrial. Bugger. Things had never been this bad when Dumbledore was alive. For that matter, when his own father was alive.

For that matter…well, if nothing else could be said for the Dark Lord, he did inspire enough fear in a society that lack of organization in the ministry was never a problem. Lack of brains, perhaps, but even when Potter had been on the stand that one time it hadn't amounted to the farce it was now.

Rolling his eyes, he hunkered down in his seat to wait it out, letting a sneer settle on his face. If he was going down for something, he'd best make it believable.

* * *

Hermione pressed her lips together and tried very hard not to glare at the man asking Princzak questions. He'd just brought up the woman's alleged involvement with that wizard from Muggle Relations and her secretary was holding the arms of the chair tightly, her face a bright red. Hermione stood up for the fourth time.

"Excuse me! This is outrageous, Minister, Council- it has nothing to do with the wards or the health of my department! A relationship is a private matter!"

Melusine nodded and turned a frown on the wizard asking the questions. "Phineas, you would do well to mind Ms. Potter," she said.

"Minister-" he began and Melusine glared at him the way Hermione had wanted to.

"Sit down, Phineas!"

At her command, another wizard stood and addressed the Wizengamot, trying to stick up for his comrade. "Minister, there is evidence that an inordinate amount of fraternizing has gone on between these two departments- it stands that such distractions would keep them from doing their jobs properly. I have on good authority that even the elevated Ms. Potter herself has been caught-"

Draco tensed in his seat even as George started from his, both men pissed as hell that someone would dare implicate Hermione.

"Minister!" George protested, looking from Melusine to Hermione, whose mouth was hanging open in shock.

"I quite agree, Mr. Weasley," Melusine ground out, turning her steely gaze on the other wizard. "Harmon, your remarks are out of order. Slurring a decorated war hero is a great offense and one I do not take lightly or kindly to. Take care you do not turn this trial into an impromptu resignation on your behalf."

Harmon paled and sat down immediately. Phineas did not say another word. While Hermione was outraged on behalf of Princzak, she also knew that this statement could do terrible things to her department's credibility. To Draco's department, for that matter. At least the man had not been allowed to finish his sentence. Things would have looked bad indeed if he had.

Princzak came off the stand a bit shaky, but holding her head high. Hermione gave her a pat on the shoulder. "You did fine," she whispered to the other witch, who nodded back at her gratefully.

"The council now calls Michael Hooper!" Melusine announced and Hermione tensed as she watched the man she'd trusted with difficult and dangerous material the last three months walked up to the chair. He took a seat and arranged his face in an appropriate look of fear and piety.

Hermione wondered that she hadn't noticed his lack of normalcy before. Every move he made was calculated. Still, she held out a strange hope that it was all some sort of mix-up. After all, one measly wizard- even one as smart and clever as Hooper- couldn't possibly be behind the organization of the goblins or the massive cover-up within the ministry. Why, hadn't they calculated that whoever was behind it would have had to have intimate knowledge of the previous ministry disaster and the wards? And Hooper was- why, he was just a baby. Perhaps he had even been Imperioused…

While Hermione tried to figure out how he was behind things- if he really was- the council began to direct questions at him.

"Hooper, it says here you have worked in Magical Catastrophes for three years, with noted participation in the solution of the wards, just recently."

"Yes, sir," he responded, clearing his throat a little.

"And you brought evidence implicating the goblins' participation as well."

"That is correct, sirs, madams."

"And have you any reason to believe that the ignorance of and collapse of the wards was not entirely manufactured by the goblins in question?"

It was a typical question and one that had been asked of every ministry employee who had taken the stand that day- and even some of the Gringotts employees. Therefore, it shouldn't have caused quite the reaction in young Hooper that it did.

His face grew pink and he fidgeted in his seat some, seemingly unable to answer.

"You are under oath to answer, Hooper," Melusine reminded him gently, as if she thought he were harmless. Hermione stifled a snort and waited to see what the supposedly harmless wizard would say.

"I, er," he mumbled.

"Speak up!"

"I have reason to believe that is not entirely the case," he finally said in a quiet voice.

The whispers came from all over the room, but Hermione ignored them as she strained forward in her seat. What was this? Hooper had certainly never come to her with anything- but if George was right, then the bugger wouldn't have done, would he? No, he would have kept it under wraps until just such a moment as this. Hermione rather thought she wanted to strangle the young wizard.

"Explain yourself, Hooper," George called from the bench, looking as encouraging as possible. This was, Hermione thought, exactly what he'd wanted the bugger to do, wasn't it?

She rather thought she might strangle a lot of people.

"Well, I was going over our records in conjunction with Muggle Relations, you see, and I came across a copy of a memo that, I can only assume, was accidentally forwarded to Ms. Potter." Here he turned to Hermione and looked apologetic.

"I daresay it was accidental, if it has something to do with this mess!" a witch on the bench exclaimed. "Seeing as her husband was killed!"

"Well, that's what I thought, Minister," Hooper said, making great big cow eyes at Melusine, who waved her hand.

"Continue, Hooper."

Hermione didn't bother jumping up and pointing out that he shouldn't have been in her personal memos anyway, seeing as he wasn't her assistant. No, she'd save that for later, when she was strangling someone.

"Yes, Minister. Well, it's a memo detailing the approximate dates of the ward collapse- when each point was expected to implode, so to speak. Er- the original recipients were the goblins standing trial today, with Ms. Potter listed under the carbon copy of the memo. I was able to track how the copy may have occurred accidentally by going through her other memos-"

"Get to the point, Hooper," Harmon snarled, tired of sitting around.

"Er, yes, sir. Well, right before the time stamp on this memo, another memo was sent to our now Vice-Minister, then Head of Magical Catastrophes, George Weasley, with Hermione Potter listed in the carbon copy. This immediately previous memo came from the same office-"

"Whose office, Hooper?"

Hooper flicked his eyes right and left before holding out the memo in a rather pathetic way and looking up at the minister.

"Head of Muggle Relations, Draco Malfoy, Minister."

* * *

Hermione watched in horror as Hooper held up the paper that proved Draco had been involved, held her breath in suspended shock as the aurors took him into custody, forcing his hands behind his back. She felt frozen, unable to move and clearly unable to believe such slander. It was only when he looked up and caught her eyes, his own wide with disbelief, that she felt her immobility disappear.

"Draco!" she screamed, jumping up from her seat in the stands. This couldn't be happening- she wouldn't let this happen. Draco was a good man now- he would never have been involved in anything like this- it had killed his own wife, after all, and he had been Harry's friend too. And if it wasn't Draco, then that meant George had been right, and Hooper had been behind it all. But why? Why would he do such an awful thing? Just to get back at one man? What could he be thinking?

She could barely hear anything over the roar that had erupted with Hooper's accusations, but she could see Draco's face, his eyes glued to hers, trying to tell her something. That it was going to be okay, or to take care of Barclay for him. Never once did he insist upon his innocence. She felt herself shaking her head and reached a hand out over the barrier, but he was already being dragged away for confinement and questioning.

A pair of arms dragged her back to her seat and she struggled against them briefly. She could still see Hooper's face- it was smug, actually smug! She renewed her struggle, but the arms were too strong. Then a hand was pressing a handkerchief against her face and a voice was whispering soothing words in her ear. It reminded her terribly of that night two months ago, when Ginny had rushed into the library at Hogwarts…she heard awful gasping, choking noises and realized it was her, that she was crying. She accepted the handkerchief and turned to see Smith holding her.

"Oh, Zacharias, it's not true- it's not true!"

"I know that," he whispered. "You don't have to convince me. I'm sure that prick will dig up some false information on me, next."

"How could Hooper do this? Maybe he was being fed false reports-"

"Oh, please! Don't take his side!" Smith snorted and then helped Hermione to her feet. "Come on. We have to get out of here and see about Malfoy."

Hermione was terrified for Draco. To think of everything he'd been through to clear his good name, the pain he and Pansy had gone through for their family's sake. Only to have it taken away by an embittered and delusional young wizard? It was too much to bear. She felt a great grief cover her breast and she suddenly doubled over in pain and found herself unable to move once again. Smith looked down at her, frightened.

"What is it?"

"Cramps," she muttered, trying to regain her footing. Another wave of pain hit her and she stayed where she was, kneeling by her chair. Oh, Merlin. The twins. She managed to hiss some instructions to Smith as another cramp hit, this one worse than the last. She was barely three months along. She would not lose these babies.

"Mungo's! Take me to Mungo's immediately, please! Or call for a healer."

Smith looked up at the rapidly clearing court room and back down at Hermione. He was torn between helping the woman and helping his boss, until he realized that if anything happened to her, his boss would kill him.

He helped the woman.

* * *

**MUAHAHAHAHAHA! You wanted a trial, you got it. Fortunately, as far as I can tell with the Wizengamot we see in the books, ANYTHING GOES. So it did. Cookie?**

**I'd apologize for my private joke up there, but, well. I sometimes find myself wishing I could just quit. This thing is too, too long. *sigh* But I will not quit! I will persevere, for tomorrow is another day and I swear I will never go Harry Potter-less again! **

**Wait, what?**

**Also, I had a thought today: am I crazy, or was there a hint of chemistry between George and Hermione earlier in the story? I got a few reviews where people were like, what? Does he like her? Now, I promise this is a Dramione story, strictly, but I was just curious about other possible ships. So, did you guys sense that earlier? I don't think it's quite there anymore, but I do think the possibility for her to end up with someone else always exists, since in my world all the wizards are mad for Hermione. Heehee. It's an Hermione-centric world in the Potterverse, when the writers come to cover the...ahem. Moving on. Well, I'm curious. Tell me what you think, but be aware that it will be Dramione all the way by the time this thing finishes, so don't worry about my asking this. :) I suppose someday I might write an alternate ending just to explore it some, but enough. This is becoming a nonsensical AN and I won't have it any longer. Cheers!**


	56. The Verge of Something

**I do not own any part of the HP franchise, nor make money off it. Everything is dear J.K.'s!**

* * *

_First ask yourself: what is the worst that can happen? Then prepare to accept it. Then proceed to improve on the worst._

_-Dale Carnegie_

* * *

Draco flinched against the flashbulbs that went off in his face as he felt himself being half-pulled, half-shoved from the council chamber. For one brief, hideous moment, he forgot about his conversation with George that morning and was transported back to that year after the final battle: when he and his family were forced to attend trial after trial, hearing after hearing. Being accused and re-accused of God only knew what while everyone attempted to extract his or her pound of flesh. And then for it to be over, only not able to find any work and with another young mouth on the way, hoping this one lived. And Pansy- always Pansy nagging him because she was frightened for him more than anything, not because she was a bad wife. His mother being a bitch for the same reasons- and his father.

Merlin, his father. For that one moment he felt sure he'd been arrested after all and knew his life would never be the same.

George appeared at his side as soon as the aurors had dragged him off a suitable distance away from the reporters and Draco practically snarled at him before he remembered where he was and what was happening. Then he shook the aurors off and turned about.

"Get these damned things off of me!"

"Er- let's get down to the cells first, shall we?" George put a hand on his shoulder and steered him to the floos, where he shoved them both in, the aurors following closely.

Draco stumbled out of the floo and turned about again. "Now can we get these off?"

"Yeah- fellows?" George called and the two aurors came and undid the cuffs immediately. They looked apologetic, though Draco wasn't sure if it was because they felt bad about the mock arrest, or if they really did want to see him guilty.

"How long do I need to stay?" Draco asked quickly as he rubbed his wrists.

"Just a few hours, we hope," George answered. His voice was low and a little unsteady and Draco knew what was left unspoken. That it would only be a few hours as long as he really was innocent. He tried not to hold it against George; Hooper had provided pretty damning evidence, after all. He shook his head and refocused on what the red haired wizard was saying.

"What Hooper doesn't know is that we're onto him. He presented that memo thinking we would run just a perfunctory scan on it and not check it thoroughly. He assumed everyone would be so upset and aggrieved that we wouldn't be thinking straight; that we'd just accept whatever he gave us, pretty much without question. It'll have made him sloppy. And now that the aurors know what sort of magical signature to look for, we'll have no trouble pinning the whole thing on him. And the goblins, of course," George added thoughtfully.

Draco shook his head. "Fine. I told you before I would do it and here I am. But I'm warning you, Ornella- and probably my mother too- will both be down here in a flash once they hear. I know you can't tell them the truth yet," he said, holding up a hand, "but I'm just giving you a heads up. Alright?" George nodded and Draco jerked his head. "These two going to show me to my cell now?"

George smiled apologetically. "Thank you for doing this, Draco."

"It's the least I can do," Draco replied with a bitter laugh. "Just don't let them crucify my department in the few hours this takes."

"I won't," George promised as the aurors began to lead him towards a cell. Suddenly Fred skidded out of the floo behind him and grabbed his arm. George turned with alarm and the aurors stopped in their tracks as well.

"It's Hermione," Fred managed to gasp and George turned to meet Draco's face, his own drawn tightly as well.

"Well? Get the fuck out of here!" Draco yelled and George immediately spun away and back into the floo. Fred followed with him with a desperate wave at Draco. The aurors on either side of him looked at one another as the man between them shook with fear.

"What are you two looking at?" he bit out. "Put me in the bloody cell, already! This is no time to stop acting."

The aurors shrugged and then did as they were told. If they handled Draco a little more roughly than they had before, he didn't seem to care. He figured he probably deserved it, just a little.

* * *

Hermione was surrounded by healers as soon as Smith called for them and she was at Mungo's in even less time. Smith stayed by her, unable to catch the ears of any of her own people, it seemed. She was grateful for his actions, but he was no Ginny and she let him know that as soon as the healers gave her a second to speak. She felt like something was trying to come apart in the middle of her, but she bit through the pain and frowned at Zacharias anyway.

"Get Ginny," she gasped. "Or Molly- or my mother." Then she fell back against the bed again, pushed down by one very convincing witch. Smith's face was as white and pinched as she'd ever seen Draco's and she thought it was sweet he was worried. And then she wasn't thinking anything except how it hurt and how frightened she was for her children.

Because they were her children. As surely as Viola was hers.

"Relax, Ms. Potter," a healer said, his voice pitched to comfort. "We need you to relax." He waved his wand over her abdomen again as another healer bustled in with a potion.

Hermione blinked rapidly, took several more deep breaths. Miraculously enough, it felt like the cramps were receding into the background and though her insides still felt strange, she was breathing more easily. "What's going on?" she managed to garble around the edge of the cup. The second healer frowned and tilted the cup further, forcing the liquid down her as the first glanced up from her stomach.

"Just try to stay calm and relaxed, Ms. Potter. There's only been some light bleeding- we'll put a stop to that soon, it could be normal-"

"The cramps-" she interrupted him and was shushed immediately.

"Are diminishing, yes? Good. There, I don't see anymore signs of bleeding. We're going to keep you with us for the next couple of days to monitor you. Yes, I know you have work. You want to give these babies a fighting chance, correct?"

Hermione nodded, lips pressed tightly together.

"Well, then. I'm probably going to recommend bed rest for a while, too. You're going to have to take some time off of work if you want to stay healthy. You're under far too much stress and these are twins- they're already high risk."

"Are they-" she took a deep breath and felt only the faintest twinge. "Are they okay?" she finally asked softly.

"We'll run an ultrasound to be absolutely certain, but from what I can tell here, yes. They're still with us."

"Oh, thank god," Hermione murmured, all thoughts of Draco, Hooper and the trial momentarily banished from her mind.

"Take a bit more potion, dear," the second healer said and lifted the cup to her lips once again. Hermione sipped at it gingerly before she laid her head back down and closed her eyes, one hand resting softly on her stomach.

_You're mine, little ones, _she thought. _Don't you give up. I'll do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes. _

* * *

Ginny was already hovering outside Hermione's room, casting nasty glances back and forth with the healer witch who was posted outside the door, when George rushed up to her.

"How is she?" he asked, his brow creased.

"How do you think she is?" snapped Ginny, before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, George- I had to leave practice again, and Nev's already over worked. If we didn't have Mum and Dad to help with the kids…"

"Fred told me Bill and Fleur talked to Mum about taking the twins, if that would help."

Ginny looked up, her shoulders losing their tension already. "Really? That's- that would be fantastic. Not that I want to get rid of any of them, it's just that with Vi and Mum can take Ron, then, and Nev will just have little Heidi…oh, that does make things better," she admitted.

George nodded and tossed her his cell phone. "Best give them a call then. Now, how is she?"

Ginny peered in the window. "They won't let me in to see her. Say her condition is too delicate. Bet you could get in, as Vice-Minister and her former boss…her mum is on the way, too. I heard one of the witches talking on the phone about how the ministry had-"

"Sent a car, yeah," George replied. "Smith got her here and then called the appropriate people, apparently."

"Smith?" Ginny asked, confused.

"Is he not here?"

"I haven't seen him. What happened at the trial to set all this off, anyway?"

"Hmm. Must be back at the ministry, taking care of Malfoy."

"Draco? George, what's going on?"

George looked back at his sister as if he'd forgotten she was there. He was very distracted. "Draco was arrested. Hooper provided evidence of-"

"That piece of shit!" Ginny swore and George held up his hands.

"Please, keep it down! And whom were you referring to, anyway?"

"I don't know. Either. Both. George, Hermione's high risk. The most I've heard is she'll have to go on bed rest. Not sure how long, so don't ask. Anyway, you'll have to find a replacement to do her work, unless you want to sack her and just hire someone else altogether."

"Damn," George said. "I wish Percy were still available."

Ginny grew more incredulous. "Are you out of your-"

"No, no. Look, I can't explain it all now. Don't say a word to anyone. And if they're not going to let me in to see her-"

Just then, a healer came bustling along and looked George up and down. "Ah!" he said. "Vice-Minister Weasley! How lovely of you to come visit your employee. She's alright to see visitors now, I think, as long as you keep quiet and don't upset her. Don't stay too long. Healer Grubbybush here will keep an eye on the time for you. Be right outside the door if you need anything. Good day!"

The witch with whom Ginny had been exchanging nasty glares seemed to grow even nastier at the revelation of her name, but she grudgingly let George and Ginny into the room. George winked at her.

Healer Grubbybush decided he was alright.

Hermione stirred a little as they approached the bed and Ginny immediately took her hand.

"How are you, Hermione?" she asked.

"The twins are alright for now," she replied, "but I don't have much energy. I'm sorry I'm going to be stuck here, George," she finished softly.

George smiled. "Don't worry about it, Hermione. We'll cover."

She looked up at him, concerned. "And Draco? What's happening? I can't believe you were right about Hooper-"

"Hermione," George said, "_don't worry_. I can't say much, but this is really not going to be a problem. Draco and I have talked. Alright?"

Hermione's and Ginny's eyes narrowed at the same time and they looked at one another before turning back to George. Hermione spoke first.

"If you don't give me more than that, I'm just going to be under more stress. If I-" and here she choked on the words a little- "lose these babies it will be on your head, George Weasley," she finished, glaring at him pitifully, tears in her eyes.

"I think I'm going to go see if Mum is here," Ginny said and started to leave the room. "She'd love to know you're being a prat."

"Wait!" George exclaimed. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Fine, just wait a minute. Good god." He looked back to Hermione and cast a quick muffling charm as Ginny joined them again. "Look, we're only detaining Draco until the aurors secure this evidence of Hooper's. Trust me, Hooper isn't getting away with anything, alright?"

"So it's a set up?" Hermione asked. "And what if Hooper outsmarts you? What if you can't clear Draco-"

"Won't happen, Hermione. Now just rest tight. Everything will be fine. I promise. You take care of these little buggers," he said, resting a hand lightly on Hermione's abdomen. She looked up at him, a little surprised at the gentle action, but touched. George ghosted a kiss upon her head and then he was gone with another wink and smile. Ginny watched him go with a suspicious look. Yeah, that was all her friend needed. Another wizard _madly_ in love with her. She gave Hermione's hand a pat and rushed back out into the hall after George.

"What was that?" she asked him and he stopped in his tracks.

"Excuse me?"

"That thing? With Hermione?"

He frowned. "Not you, too. First Mum, then Draco- you lot are thick. Hermione means a lot to me _and_ the ministry. She was my second hand for a long time. Of all the- can I please get back to work now?"

Ginny crossed her arms. "You're sure you're not secretly harboring-"

"Gin? Just shut it for once, will you?" George looked bemused rather than upset, though and Ginny felt her face relax into a wry grin.

"Alright, alright. Get going." She watched him give a second wave and then he was out of sight. Fred came up not a second later with Mrs. Weasley in tow.

"Mrs. Granger will be here soon, just got the call. Go on in, Mum," he said with a wink at Healer Grubbybush.

Ms. Grubbybush flushed. Ginny smirked and looked back to Fred. "Well, let's talk. I suppose you're up to date on all this?"

Fred tried to look as innocent as possible. "We are twins," he said. Ginny sighed. It was turning into another long week and it was only Monday afternoon. Bloody hell.

* * *

Hooper was seated in the minister's office when George walked in and shut the door behind him. There were already two aurors inside as well; supposedly to keep watch over this most important witness. If Hooper had thought it safe to preen, George was sure he would have been. He exchanged a silent glance with the auror to his right, who gave an imperceptible nod.

So. They'd run the appropriate tests already. That hadn't taken long. Maybe Hooper _had_ gotten sloppy. George itched to speak with the men privately, but he knew that Melusine still wanted a confession, if possible. She was looking as regal and overworked as ever, seated behind her wide desk. Recalling Ginny's mistaken warning, he resisted the urge to smile and instead focused on Hooper.

"Sorry I'm late. You alright, Hooper?" he asked, eyeing the younger wizard. He still couldn't quite believe that the man had known what was going on; and was willing to throw the goblins under the wheel along with several of his own kind; just in order to get back at some long reformed Death Eater. Not to mention all the innocents who had died in the Great Collapse, as Neville had coined it. It made him sick and angry.

Hooper turned a wide, pale face on him. "I'm alright. How is- how is Ms. Potter?"

"She'll be fine. It was close, though. Still could be if anything else happens to upset her," he added as a warning. Was that fear or calculation he saw flicker in Hooper's eyes?

Melusine spoke. "I'm sure Mungo's has the best healers working with her. I assume we won't see much of her in the coming months."

"Yes, she'll have to scale back considerably," George mused, eyes still on Hooper, who had turned to face the minister again. Was that a tick in his eyelid?

"Pardon me, but how long do I need to stay?" Hooper asked. "I've answered all the questions I can-"

"Oh, we can't let you go just yet," Melusine said. "I'm terribly sorry about this, Hooper, but we need to arrange for your stay in a secure location. I've already heard from both Mrs. Parkinson and Mrs. Malfoy; and I'm afraid Narcissa, in fact, is hiring a rather nasty legal team. It is imperative that we keep you safe, as the main witness to our case."

The tick seemed to grow deeper and Hooper shifted in his seat. He did seem obviously uncomfortable now, but it could just be the thought of being faced with a hit being taken out on him. Narcissa Malfoy was rather old school, after all. There was no telling the lengths she would go to in order to ensure the safety of her estranged son. George said as much and was satisfied to see Hooper fidget openly.

"Can't I at least go back to my flat and, er, pack a bag?"

"Oh, it's much too dangerous- I'm sorry, delicate, I meant to say- for us to let you go back. No, we'll take you straight to your new home from here. These aurors will accompany you."

"But my things-"

"We'll have someone go to your flat and pack a bag for you. Just give us a list of the essentials, Mr. Hooper," Melusine said sternly. She tried to soften her words with a smile. "You're a very valuable employee and wizard now; I'm sure you realize that. As a hero of the Collapse and-"

Her words were interrupted by a swiftly muttered jinx that hit the wall behind her. No one had expected Hooper to do anything so rash, but the minute the spell left his lips the two aurors were on him. How he managed to toss one of them off, then the other, shocked George, but he reacted just as quickly, uttering a spell of his own that hit the man right in the chest. The aurors recovered and quickly slapped cuffs on the wizard, who was lying on the floor of the office, stunned, breathing heavily. George looked from the man- that eyelid was still twitching madly- up to Melusine, who was standing up. Face pale, but proud, wand still in her pocket. George looked at the wall behind her and realized that of any of them, she _had_ seen the sudden jinx coming, had probably expected Hooper to act out; because there was a singe mark on the wall directly behind her chair. She had to have ducked in order to have missed the spell.

His appreciation for the woman grew tenfold as he caught her eyes. She gave an imperial nod and he looked back at Hooper. The aurors had drug him into a sitting position and deposited him back in his chair. They'd confiscated his wand and had their own trained on him. George saw him lift his head groggily as if coming out from under the hex and that little tick happened again. Except that it had expanded to cover his temple seemed to have traveled down his jaw, to his neck…

"Who are you?" George asked suddenly.

Hooper gave a short, bitter laugh and looked away. George held out his hand and one of the aurors placed a small bottle in it. He brandished it before Hooper's face.

"Tell me now or I'll force it out of you." When the younger wizard still wouldn't say anything, George leaned back on his heals and crossed his arms. "Or we can just wait for the Polyjuice to wear off, eh?"

At that, Hooper's head shot up and he locked a venomous pair of eyes with George before he began to struggle violently. One of the aurors cuffed him on the ear and his head lolled back a bit.

"Fuck you," he spat.

George raised an eyebrow and glanced back at Melusine, whose face had hardened considerably.

"Give him the Veritaserum," she ordered. "I do not have the time nor the inclination to deal with such infantile behavior. Though first, I think, we should counter the effects of the Polyjuice."

"Yes, Minister," one of the aurors replied before waving his wand over Hooper's head; and the young wizard they'd known and worked with for the last five years melted away.

George repeated his question, dumbfounded for once.

"Who _are_ you?"

* * *

**AN: Cookie? Coooookiiiiiieee? :( It's not much for now, but I will be focusing more intensely on our intrepid heroes from now on. I don't think there's too much left here, either, to be honest. Will do my best to make them good ones, though! Cheers!**


	57. Irreparable Damages

**Don't own HP or make profit off this fic. It all belongs to J.K. and co.**

* * *

_I wonder if a soldier ever does mend a bullet hole in his coat?_

_-Clara Barton_

* * *

Whoever he was, his eyes didn't look any less murderous now that he was revealed. In fact, judging by his age, George thought they probably ought to be more frightened of him than they were before. He was clearly an old and powerful wizard in order to have done the things he had- or perhaps his power was only that of a madman. But what sort of madman, was the question?

"Well, since you're clearly not going to tell us anything of your own volition, open up," George said briskly, grabbing his jaw and squeezing hard. The older wizard glared mutinously, but couldn't help his mouth being forced open. He tried to spit it out once George had tipped some of the serum into his mouth; but the aurors immediately accosted him and forced his mouth shut again.

"Come on, swallow," George said evenly. "The quicker you accept this the faster we'll be able to get you a fair trial of your own. Although I dare say the evidence against you is a bit more damning than that against poor Malfoy."

Not-Hooper glared again, but George could see his throat working madly as he fought the potion's slipping down it, despite his best efforts.

"Well then," he continued after a long moment, "would you like to do the honors, Minister?"

She smiled tightly at him. "Yes, thank you." She turned an icy gaze upon the older wizard. "I know who you are."

Everyone in the room gave a start and Melusine's face softened.

"Where is your grandson, Cerberus?"

The old man closed his eyes briefly and turned his head away, as if that would keep him from answering. The potion forced the words from his mouth anyway and he struggled against them even as they spilled forth.

"Dead," he said, his voice heavy with bitterness. "Cold and buried in the family plot on our land."

"How? Why didn't you report this?"

"Caught a curse in the Battle of Hogwarts, from the tip of Malfoy's wand. Never fully recovered. And I didn't report it because I knew it was the perfect opportunity to take revenge on that damned lot!"

"Which Malfoy?"

"Lucius," he spat. "Thought it seemed fitting I would take his son's life the way he took my grandson's." A bitter laugh. "Since taking his grandson's didn't matter after they had that second one."

A dreadful, horrid feeling came over George and he knew Melusine felt it too, from the look on her face. Everyone knew Pansy and Draco had lost their first child. Cerberus noticed the look and the laugh that came out this time was almost triumphant compared to the last.

"That's right. I poisoned the trollop and I'd do it again!"

"Was Hooper already-"

"No, he wasn't dead yet, but I knew he would be. Seemed fitting." A crazy gleam came into the man's eyes. "Oh, potions kept Michael fit for work, but we all knew it was only a matter of time…" his voice trailed off and he gave a shaky sigh before it picked up again. "And then Christmas came two years ago and he didn't come down to open his gifts. Pomona," he said stiffly, "was devastated."

"Pomona? Pomona Sprout?" George asked, shocked.

"What, think my last name was Hooper as well, you bloody Weasley?" Cerberus snarled and Melusine finally pulled out her wand, training it on him.

"You will not speak that way to myself or any of my staff, Cerberus," she commanded. Her face softened again. "Oh, poor Pomona. What did you do to her, that she went along with this plan?"

"Do? The minute I knew what had happened I obliviated her and polyjuiced the both of us. That's what I did. She thinks it's me out there, dead and gone."

"And did you ever stop to think what would happen to her when she found out that not only was it Michael, but that you'd killed hundreds and risked more in order to take revenge upon one innocent man and another dead one?"

"He was my grandson!" Cerberus wailed. "Was it not bad enough that his father and my daughter were already dead? Lucius Malfoy took everything from us with that curse! Everything! He deserved to rot in Azkaban his entire life! And instead, he got off based on his wife's behavior- he hid behind her like a coward! He _deserved_ what he got!"

George was on the man in a flash; a gasp of surprise issuing from Melusine as the aurors gladly stepped away to let him throttle the wizard. They were Harry's men, after all. If George hadn't stepped up to do it, they would have.

"And did Harry deserve what he got, you fucking prick? Did Hermione?"

"That whoring witch loves Malfoy! I'm sorry for Potter's loss, but she needs to be more careful where she throws her affections- I tried to warn her off him, but no-" His voice was cut off and George's hands tightened about his throat.

"Thousands of people are dead, you fool," he hissed. "_Thousands_. Not just Harry and Pansy, but innocent people. People as innocent as Michael and Scorpius. Children, you monster! You let _children_ die and for what? For a memory? How did you do it? How could you do it?" With a strangled cry he thrust the man away from himself and turned around, leaning heavily upon Melusine's desk. She stared down at him, concerned.

"Get him the hell out of here or I'm liable to kill him myself," George whispered up at her, not looking at her, not looking at anything.

Melusine gave him a small, sad smile. "I quite agree with Mr. Weasley," she said aloud. "Take the man down to your offices for further questioning. I trust you all to take it from here. I have all the evidence I need to release a short statement. Please refrain from releasing Mr. Malfoy until the statement is out- we wouldn't want anyone mistakenly plotting revenge."

"Yes, Minister," the other wizards replied before lifting Cerberus Sprout between the two of them and hauling him out the door. George barely waited for the door to close again before he collapsed in a nearby seat, his head in his hands. With a start, Melusine realized he was crying. She felt infinitely sorry for him.

"George, do you need to take some time off?"

"Pardon?" he asked, quickly wiping at his face and glancing up at her.

"I understand this has come as a shock- I freely admit that I'm feeling it as well. I've known Pomona and Cerberus for a long time, but not hearing from them the last few years did not surprise me all that much- after all, I have been busy. To think that I could have learned of all this sooner…" She passed a hand over her eyes.

George's eyes widened. "Minsiter, you can't blame yourself."

"Why not? I am the minister. It's my job to see the big picture. To think that I was as much victim as Percy- perhaps I should resign. I've been on the job for a reasonable term already-"

"You wouldn't have been elected if you couldn't do the job, Melusine," George said firmly, all tears quite forgotten. He reached across the desk and took her hand, holding it tenderly. "Don't quit on us now, yeah?"

A bemused, bittersweet smile stole across her lips and she lifted her eyes to his. George felt rather exposed, all of the sudden, but he kept his grip on her hand. "Alright," she said softly after some length. "That's quite enough of that. I promise I'll give it another go," she finished, placing her other hand on his before extracting them both from him.

"Now," she continued, voice brisker, "call the press for me, would you? I need to make a statement very quickly and then I'll need to go meet with the Muggle Prime Minister as well. Pomona will need to be brought in, but I think I should see to that myself as well. You'll be left to field other questions and deal with the aurors in my short absence."

"Of course," George responded, standing up and wiping his palms on his pants. He felt extremely self-conscious, but the usual Fred and George Weasley charm had swept over the surface once again. "I'll be ready for them."

Then he flashed her a brilliant smile, gave a small salute, and left the office. Melusine could hear a bravely cheerful whistle echoing down the hall. Her lips crooked up again.

"I'm sure you will, Mr. Weasley," she replied to the air. Then she scribbled out a few lines and called her secretary. Time to get back to work and stop feeling aflutter over the way a wizard who was young enough to be her son had held her hand.

* * *

Neville glanced up as Ginny walked in the door, broom in hand and a frown on her face.

"What is it?" he asked, bouncing Heidi on one hip and his other hand hovering over his laptop. "Is Hermione-"

"She'll be fine," Ginny said, running a hand over her hair before depositing the broom against the wall and sweeping forward. She plucked her now next youngest from his arms and began to coo at her. "She'll be on bed rest for a while- George will find a way to cover at the ministry," she said in between giggles with the baby girl, who had her dad's brown hair and her mom's brown eyes.

"So that's alright then," Neville said with a relieved sigh. "Will she stay at the flat, or move in with someone? I suppose her parents would make the most sense, but they both still work, don't they?"

"Oh- thinking of who would take care of Vi? Yes, I think Mum's would be best. I mean, with Percy starting work again soon it'll just be Mum, Dad, and Ronald for a bit until I'm off the team-"

"So they'll have Ronald then? I feel bad shuffling the kids about this way, but-"

"There's no help for it," Ginny finished. "Besides, we'll still see him plenty. Oh, and have you talked to Bill yet?"

"Fleur's excited, though I don't know how Victoire will feel about having the twins there. She's a bit spoiled, I think…"

"Fleur probably realizes that," Ginny said. "I think she's being sensible. And Bill will make sure they don't develop any strange tastes."

Neville stifled a laugh at the lingering prejudice his wife held for Fleur. They got along well enough, but occasionally her early distaste reared its head. He was about to ask her what she wanted for supper when the phone rang. He flipped open his cell and lifted it to his ear.

"Hello? Oh, George…what? Sure, I can be there right…oh, alright. What? _What_?" Neville batted away Ginny's hand as she tried to wrestle the phone from him and frowned. "Yes, I'm coming right away. First and last questions, you say? Good. I'll be there." He flipped the phone shut and put it back in his pocket before kissing Ginny and then his daughter and racing to the front hall; where he shrugged on his robes quickly and snatched a notepad and his recorder.

"Press conference. I've been promised first and last questions. Apparently," he said as he slipped on his shoes, "the culprit isn't Malfoy- but it isn't Hooper, either."

"What?" Ginny said, echoing his own question.

"I know. Well, got to run. Love you- eat something while I'm gone. I'll be back soon- it won't take me long to write this up and dash it off to the paper. Bye, love!"

The front door slammed shut and Ginny stood in the front hall, staring at it in consternation. Bloody hell. Her stomach rumbled and Heidi gave a gurgling laugh. Ginny looked back down at her, smiling again.

"Think that's funny, love? Come on, let's go eat. I suppose we'll have to wait for the evening news, same as everyone else."

Heidi happily gummed at her mother's ponytail in reply and Ginny rolled her eyes heavenwards. This called for sandwiches and pudding and shepherd's pie. Perhaps more pudding. And some potatoes. And more pudding.

Full of the idea of food, Ginny hummed her way back into the kitchen.

* * *

Draco's head shot up as sharp, pointy sounding heels approached the door of his cell.

"Unlock this door at once!" demanded his mother. He dropped his head again and groaned as she peered in the door. She pushed the auror out of the way as soon as the cell was unlocked and wrenched the door open.

"Draco!" she exclaimed and he didn't bother to fight off her hug. He figured she probably had been genuinely concerned.

"Draco?" came a softer voice and he looked up to see Ornella standing there as well. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I didn't know who else to turn to." She gestured to his mother, who was gripping him tightly and- was she sobbing into his shoulder?

"I don't know how I would have found out about this awful mistake if she hadn't called me," Narcissa explained, finally pulling away. "Are you alright, Draco?"

He nodded and looked back at Ornella. "Mistake?"

"For god's sake, I'm right here, Draco," Narcissa snapped, returning to herself, though a few tears lingered on her cheeks. "I know as much as she does."

He stared at her. "Then by all means-"

"Oh, Draco!" she wailed and threw her arms about him again. He looked up at Ornella _again_.

The older witch smiled. "It really is a remarkable story. Let's get you out of here first, though. I'm sure you'd rather be elsewhere."

"Yeah- yes. Of course," Draco replied, standing up while still supporting his mother. A sudden, awful thought overtook him and he paused in the middle of the hallway. "Ornella- is Hermione-"

Narcissa lifted her head and stepped away from Draco, taking time to straighten her hat and wipe her face while Ornella answered him.

"In the hospital, is what Mr. Weasley said. I understand she's in a delicate condition-"

"I want to go there first, then," Draco responded. Then he looked about again. "Where's Barclay?"

"Oh- now, don't be upset, Draco, but we left him with Molly Weasley. She's just been by the ministry to see the press conference and already has Viola and her own grandson with her- who-"

"Ronald, I believe," sniffed Narcissa. Draco turned and looked at her. It was like he was seeing her for the first time in nine years. She knew the name of the Longbottom kid? And spoke it? _Willingly_?

"Mother," he said, astonished. "What are you doing here?"

Narcissa looked, for one wild second, as if she might burst into tears again. Instead, she daubed at her eyes some more and turned on the icy imperial glare he'd known so well for half his life. Since Lucius had died, at least.

"You are my son. You may hate me for some of the decisions I've made, but I love you. No matter what," she added, almost as though it were an afterthought. Draco knew it wasn't.

Ornella watched mother and son regard each other with quiet trepidation. On the one hand, she wanted Draco and Barclay all to herself. On the other, she thought it was abominable they should be so estranged. She decided to be the bigger witch.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake- just hug and make up, you two! We have other places to be than at a standstill!" she exclaimed before crossing her arms, glaring at them both and turning her back on them.

"You called the attorneys and the Minister," Draco finally said.

Narcissa gave him a searching look. "Of course I did. Granted, I didn't know it was all a set-up at the time, but still-"

"I'm sorry, Mother," he interrupted her softly.

She stopped short and brought her hands up suddenly, as if she wanted to wring them- or possibly his neck- and then dropped them again. "I'm the one who should apologize," she replied. "In fact, I am sorry- I have been for a long time. Your father was wrong and I didn't have the courage to leave him behind."

"You saved both our lives once," Draco said.

"That doesn't make up for the stupidity I displayed after, does it? At any rate. There you are. I apologize."

Draco walked up to her and slipped his arms about her. After a long moment hers came up as well and she held him tightly once again. If they were both a little stiff, it didn't matter much. They were together again, at least. Ornella gave a small sigh as they broke apart.

"Well, we'd best be off. You need to speak with the Vice-Minister before you leave, I think. But after that, Mungo's it is," she said as brightly as possible.

For a fleeting moment, Narcissa looked as though she might rebel against this proclamation, but she held her tongue and nodded instead. She was not going to jeopardize her new, tentative relationship with her son. After all, he would likely need as much support as possible once he heard the news. Merlin only knew _she'd_ needed the support. Still did, if she was being honest. With a nod, she and Ornella took one another's arms and then ushered Draco towards the floo. Together, the three of them quickly flooed from the holding cells, with aurors to accompany them.

* * *

**AN: I feel kinda bad about Ginny always being on about food now, but at the same time I love it. I mean, she still has a personality, right? I just imagine she would be hungry all the time, what with an energy burning sport like quidditch being her day job, having four children and one on the way, and being under all that stress. I would be hungry all the time, anyway. LOL.**


	58. Old Walls Crumble

**Don't own HP, as usual. SIGH.**

* * *

**AN: I love making these characters suffer. OH, the DRAMA. After all, Marie Antoinette said, "Tribulation first makes one realize what one is." I think what I try to do with fanfiction, a lot of the time, is to make the characters the best versions of themselves they can be. Of course, depending on the ship I'm running that usually means other characters might act dishonorably, or have their good names besmirched, but such is the cost of art. LOL. It makes me sad when other readers don't see the beauty of running favorite characters through times of trial- such as with the late, ill-timed Romione-Gate. Ah, well. Such is life. Guess I'll have to get used to it. At least I still have you all, my loyal Dramione readers! Much love to you all.**

* * *

_Young love is from the earth, and late love is from heaven._

_-Turkish Proverb_

* * *

Draco leaned back in his seat, face as pale as it ever was, the only indication of his emotion the clenched fist by his side. He noticed George eyeing it warily and brought it up into his lap, deliberately stretching his fingers until they lay, mostly harmless, against his thigh. Beside him, Ornella and Narcissa were listening closely and watching carefully for any sign he might cry, or breakdown, or _break_ things. Draco opened his mouth. His face felt strange, as if it were pulled taut by some invisible force- ah, he remembered this feeling now. It _was_ tears building behind his eyes. His nostrils flared as he tried to keep control of himself and he opened his mouth.

"How long has he been at this, exactly?"

"Ten years ago," George replied softly. "Since the Battle for Hogwarts. That was when our Hooper was hit by that curse. Though whether it actually came from your father or not is hard to say. I doubt we'll ever know, now."

"No," Draco said. "I suppose not. And what, tell me, did he have to do with the wards, exactly?"

"He worked in Gringotts for a long time before Hooper died. Percy thought he remembered Hooper having it on his resume, but it was only an internship; which Sprout erased after he enacted his plan. He knew a lot about bending the rules and about the wards, because when he first began work it was in the Department of Mysteries. Gringotts was more than happy to have him after he left there, since he had so much insider knowledge on curse-breaking and making, especially of the time-delayed sort."

Understanding swept over Draco in awful waves. "So he knew all about the wards. He was part of that team, wasn't he? The spatio-temporal ones."

George nodded. "He was. And because Hooper had started out in Percy's office, it wasn't too difficult for him to make some excuse to visit the Vice-Minister, in order to Confund and Imperious him."

Draco's jaw slacked. "Imperious? Percy was under the-"

George grunted. "That's right. The aurors found traces of seven different memory charms in addition to the curse-"

Draco bolted from his seat only to find his mother and mother-in-law on either side of him immediately, hands on his arms.

"Let go!" he hissed at them. "If I kill him it'll be for the good of the entire wizarding world!"

"Percy or Sprout?" George asked wryly and Draco stared at him for a moment, brows drawn together venomously before George finally sighed and raised his hands. "I want to kill him as much as you do, I promise. But the longer you make this take, the shorter visiting hours for Hermione get."

Draco sat back down. "So?" he finally said after another long moment. "Do you know everything yet?"

"We do."

"So you think Hooper's death- the real one- is what set him over the edge? That he might have- he might have gone after Barclay next?"

"That's what we suspect," George said softly. "I'm so sorry, Draco. Of course, with the situation with you and your family at the time of your first son-"

"I don't want to talk about him!" Draco yelled. "I don't want to talk about any of it! I want to know what you're going to do to the bleeding bastard who not only nearly took both my sons from me, but my wife as well- tried to take my livelihood and my life, and was willing to throw good people- people like Harry and even Hermione under the bus to do it!"

George started. "Hermione?"

"Yes, Hermione- oh, I know he would have done his best to keep her name out of my indictment, that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about his mysteriously forgetting that particular box in the ministry during the Collapse. The one that he knew- there's no way he wouldn't have known, everyone knows what Hermione is like about those things- that he _knew_ she would go back in for. That she would risk life and limb to collect. He left that bloody thing on purpose, not just because it contained the key to solving his clever little puzzle, but because it would get one of _your_ dream team out of the way! I bet he even hoped we would take longer, that the destruction would be greater!"

George stared at Draco, as slack-jawed as the other wizard had been previously, as he listened to him theorize. He knew, even as Draco was talking, though, that they weren't theories. Not really. Draco barely stopped to breathe, but kept going.

"If we hadn't stopped it when we did, if we hadn't taken a chance and miraculously found that old, mummified, bat of a great uncle, we never would have stopped the destruction before half of London and wizarding Britain was in shambles. It would have been worse than anything the Death Eaters did. An entire city in ruins? If they'd managed to bring me up for trial after a thing like that, the Wizengamot- or anyone who was still alive- wouldn't have bothered hearing me! They would've sentenced me to death immediately and you know it!" Draco continued bitterly. "I've no doubt he'd even be willing to bring Hermione into it, claim that I set it up for Harry to die! He probably secretly wanted Hermione thrown under the wheels as well, just because we're friends- probably sees it all as some sick betrayal of Potter and what his son died for."

George sat back, shoulders so tense he thought they might snap. He measured his words carefully. "Draco, go home. I want you to take the rest of the week off. Spend some time with Barclay; take a vacation. Go see Hermione. Smith is your second, he'll cover you. One of the Patils is taking Catastrophes for Hermione."

Draco looked astonished at first, then angry. "When are you holding that slimy rat's trial? You'll need me for that!"

George shook his head. "There won't be any trial, at least none you're present at. Not until you can be trusted not to kill the man on sight."

"George! How dare you- you can't do that!"

"I can."

"He murdered my son!" Draco exclaimed in a voice hoarse with unshed tears. There was desperation in the sound and he clenched his fists convulsively, as if it would keep him from tearing his own eyes out with this resurrected grief. To know that Scorpius hadn't needed to die, that right then Barclay could have had an older brother; alike in every way but height, someone to love and look up to- something Draco had never had- it tore at his heart; and at the memory of his first son's tiny, cold body once curled in his arms.

George's eyes softened and he looked very, very sad and much older than his thirty-two years. "I know," he responded gently, though his jaw was set. "That's why you need to go. I want him dead, too- I swear to that. But Melusine is right; we can't stop following the law now; not when we're finally recovering from the war."

Draco looked very much like he wanted nothing better than to protest; to bite George's head off; or race down to the cells and murder the bastard right then; but he kept his mouth shut; pressed in a thin, tight line.

"Fine," he bit out. "It's your job, you're the boss, Vice-Minister. Give _Melusine_ my regards, you damned politician." He stood up abruptly and turned about, wrenching open the door and stalking out before George could reply.

Narcissa didn't even spare George a glance, but rushed out after her son. Ornella looked as though she wanted to apologize, but George frowned and waved her away without a word. Draco was right, he was having to tow the line with the whole affair. And it wasn't fair of him to demand such understanding from a man who'd just had the truth laid on him heavy. If a few angry words were all Draco had for him, he'd survive it and what was further, their relationship would survive. It was more important that the man be allowed to grieve properly, to express his anger in a safe environment instead of bottling it up and then going off and blasting the hell out of some unwitting underling.

So he sighed and waved his door shut after the three of them had left and tried not to worry too much about how obvious his feelings for Melusine were just then. He had more important things to attend to- like getting Percy's name cleared, working up a report on Hooper and then paying the scum another visit. Melusine had already gotten hold of Professor Sprout and he needed to speak with the woman as well. It was going to be another long night. Week. Month?

Bloody hell.

* * *

Draco flooed directly to St. Mungo's on the advice of Ornella, who assured him that the connections were all up and running again. It felt like ages since he'd used the ministry floos to go anywhere other than a different floor. He supposed it meant he could stop buying petrol for a bit, at least. Pansy would have appreciated that much, especially once she'd known about Barclay's magic…

He paused before exiting the floo into the hospital, his mother and mother-in-law in tow. Those concerns about Barclay seemed a lifetime ago now, compared to the news he'd just had. He was almost- _almost_- glad Pansy wasn't around to hear the confession. Of why her baby boy had never drawn a breath in her arms. Why they'd been forced to bury him and go on the run. Why he'd changed sides. Why they'd been so concerned over Barclay. The poison the bastard had slipped her had probably damaged her badly; which was why she'd had miscarriage after mis…his thoughts trailed off.

If his father or one of his Death Eater cronies had never cursed Hooper, then Sprout never would have gone insane with grief and poisoned Pansy and the end result would be that Draco would never have changed. _Thanks, Dad_, he thought with a sick, humorless smile on his face. _I never would have become the man I am today without you_.

And with that thought, the perfect veneer broke and he began to laugh. He put a hand up to the wall to catch himself and felt Ornella place a hand on his shoulder.

"Draco? Dear? Are you-"

"Of course he's not alright," Narcissa snapped at the other woman. "He's just realized that if his father hadn't been such a mean old man he'd never have been put in this position. How do you think he feels?"

Draco laughed harder when he heard that and was grateful the witches held back from trying to comfort him. He didn't feel like being comforted- he didn't _want_ to be comforted. What he wanted was to go back in time and stand up to his father and that freak of a Dark Lord the way he should have done the first time around, when he'd realized that he was in love with a muggle born and everything he'd learned had turned to shit.

As that wasn't an option, he finally controlled his breathing and straightened up, rubbing a hand over his face to wipe the remains of his hysteria from his cheeks.

"Molly should be just up ahead with Barclay," Ornella finally murmured. "She said she was coming back here."

"Fine," Draco replied stiffly. His jaw hurt from the laughing jag and he rubbed it absentmindedly. That, or he was having a heart attack. Either was a possibility at this point, with all the stress he'd been under.

To his surprise, Narcissa led the way while Ornella hung at his side, her eyes darting to his face every few seconds. He finally looked over at her and gave her a tired smile.

"I'm fine, Ornella," he said in a quiet voice. "Just had a momentary lapse of…sanity."

Ornella pursed her lips, but didn't respond. They reached the nurse's station and Narcissa inquired imperiously about visiting hours while Ornella waved to Molly, who was standing just down the hall, conversing with her daughter. Ginny looked up, saw them and waved back. The little blond boy standing next to her looked over as well, saw his father, and ran towards him as fast as his little legs could carry him. Draco met him with outstretched arms and swept his spindly six year old body up into a crushing hug.

"Dad, Dad!" Barclay cried as he wrapped his arms about Draco's neck.

"How are you, son?" he asked and Barclay wriggled in his arms.

"M'alright. I missed you. Don't like it here. Dad, Vi's Mum is-"

"Shh, it's okay. I know. I missed you too. I'll tell you all about my big day later on, how's that? Have you thanked Mrs. Weasley for looking after you?"

The false smile went up as he turned to the two red-haired witches (though Molly's hair was becoming more decidedly grey with every passing year). Ginny gave him an appraising glance.

"Oh, he wasn't any trouble, was he, Mum?"

Molly actually smiled kindly at the two of them and shook her head. "He's a very smart young man- going to show up little Ronald at school, if you're not careful," she said with a scolding look at Ginny. Ornella laughed softly and Narcissa sniffed.

"I'm going to the waiting area," she said. "Come find me when you're through. I'd like to have a word with you," she directed at Draco, then wandered back down the hall. Ornella gave Barclay a kiss on the cheek and indicated she would wait, too, then followed Narcissa. Ginny looked at her mother pointedly and Mrs. Weasley arched a brow.

"Oh, alright. I suppose you think all the old biddies ought to compare notes on the grandkids. Fine. I'll see you in a few minutes," she said to Ginny, then took off down the hall too.

Draco laughed. "I don't mind her staying."

Ginny sighed. "I do. Come on inside, then," she said with a nod to the new healer on duty. Now that Hermione's condition had stabilized, security wasn't as high around the room. "She's been asking for-"

"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed, though her voice was soft. His eyes went from her face to the figure sitting across the room, a tired little girl on his lap. Fred, of course. He smiled at the peaceful expression on Viola's face and looked back to her mother.

"How are you?" he asked, striding forward, his arms still full of Barclay. Ginny moved past him and took Viola from Fred, nudging him from the seat with her foot. He grimaced at her and rolled his eyes, but left after blowing a kiss to Hermione.

Hermione's eyes were alert as she watched all this. "I'm okay. I will be okay, at least. The most important thing is that the twins are going to be fine. I don't know what I would have done if Zacharias hadn't been right there," she said honestly, looking at him again. Ginny took Fred's seat, Viola still asleep in her arms.

Draco nodded. "I heard a little. I'm sorry if our stunt was what-"

"No, no. I mean, the extra stress didn't help, but I'd probably have had an episode like that no matter what," she said honestly. "I'm not in the healthiest place, emotionally."

"Well, what's going to happen next?"

She shook her head. "Not now. Tell me what's happening, please?"

He sighed and sat down beside the bed. Barclay scrambled off his lap and went over to sit next to Ginny before he began pestering Viola. Ginny shushed him and told him to behave in quiet tones. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Almost feel like we've a chaperone," he whispered and Hermione grinned apologetically.

"Sorry about them. You know how they are."

"I know," he agreed. "Well, today…they caught Hooper, you know that?"

"George said something was going on."

"Yeah, well there's been a press conference already. I'm sure once you pick up the paper or turn on the wireless you'll hear about it. Basically…" here Draco trailed off, unsure of how to tell her that, once again, this entire thing was his fault, or his father's fault. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed.

"Draco…things can't get much worse than they already have," Hermione murmured. "Please, just tell me."

"I-" he looked up at her, willing the words to form. "It wasn't Hooper. Our Hooper- Michael- he died a couple of years ago from a curse he was hit with during the Second War. His grandfather was so bereft that he set up this entire thing to take down the family that he felt was responsible…"

Hermione covered her mouth with one hand, hiding her gasp. "Oh, no," she mumbled, "Poor Hooper- poor Professor Sprout…"

Draco nodded, his face grim. "I know. The minister has brought her in personally to give her the news."

When Hermione had recovered sufficiently, she lowered her hand. "And you were the target? Your family?"

"I was," he said grimly, "and anyone he felt had betrayed his son's sacrifice."

Hermione covered her mouth again and felt tears come to her eyes. "It was all on purpose? All of it?"

Draco bowed his head and covered his own face. "I'm so sorry, Hermione," he whispered. "He thought it was my father who'd delivered the curse, so he's been targeting my family for years…you and Harry were caught in the crossfire."

Hermione shook her head and felt the tears spill out. "Oh, no- Draco-"

"Don't tell me not to blame myself," he said. "It won't do any good. Anyway, that's the short of it. How are you feeling? Holding up?" He glanced back up at her, saw she was crying and frowned. "Oh, hell. Hermione-"

"No, don't, Draco. It's…I'll be fine. I'm fine. It's just a shock." She wiped her cheeks and then reached out and took hold of his hands, which he was wringing in a desperate attempt to stay calm. He started to draw back, startled at the touch, but gave in when he saw the expression on her face.

"I should be asking you how _you_ are," she said softly.

"I-" he tried to speak, but the tears he'd held back earlier, in George's office, rose unbidden and he was suddenly bawling like the little boy he'd been eleven years ago.

"Oh, Draco-"

"He killed my son!" he cried into her hand, which was cupping his cheek gently, turning his head to face her. "He took him from us before he ever drew breath- how am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to-" he choked on the words and continued to cry.

Hermione's heart broke for Draco and without a second thought she tugged on his hands. "Come here," she whispered. "Come here." She drew him up to her and embraced him gently. He fell across her, still crying, and she held his head to her shoulder and stroked his back while he clung to her. This, she thought. This was something she could do for him. Love him unconditionally, let him cry on her shoulder. Give him some of the comfort he so desperately needed. The things that had happened between them all those years ago ceased to matter in light of the tragedies they were dealing with now. And once all the apologies were said and the forgiveness granted, all that remained was the love they'd felt for each other.

Not romance. Not friendship. But something more and equally comforting. This, she could do. This, she could accept.

* * *

From across the room, Barclay absentmindedly reached for Viola's hand while he watch his father and Hermione. He felt whole again, seeing them embrace one another. Not upset, or disturbed, the way he'd thought he might. Just…happy. He felt Viola give his hand a squeeze and looked over to find her watching their parents as well. She turned her head and gave him a sleepy smile, stuck a thumb in her mouth and closed her eyes again. Ginny pulled the hand from her mouth and looked down at Barclay, who was staring at the little girl with something close to adoration in his eyes. She looked back at the quietly crying couple on the hospital bed and then followed Vi's suit and closed her eyes, too.

Might as well give them some privacy, she thought. These moments would be few and far between for the next few months, she felt sure.

* * *

**AN: Thoughts? Cookies? :)**


	59. Renewal

**I don't own any part of Harry Potter; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

**AN: This is a slightly filler chapter, and then we'll be moving on to more healing and some fluff and then into the home stretch. Can't wait, myself. It's been a long time coming, hasn't it? Also, if some of this seems contrived in the coming updates, well. I have to get them together somehow, don't I? Heh. **

**Two quotes this time, because I can't help myself.**

* * *

_Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, it's at the end of your arm; as you get older, remember you have another hand: the first is to help yourself, the second is to help others._

_ People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone._

_-Audrey Hepburn_

* * *

"Merlin," Draco muttered when he finally pulled away from Hermione. He brushed at his face and she smiled gently at him.

"Be alright?" she asked.

"Yeah, thanks, I- dunno what came over me-"

"Draco," she said patiently, "stop it. It's okay. I understand, you know."

He met her eyes uncertainly and found nothing but peace. It sent a warm feeling through him, as good as being held by her moments ago. "Thanks," he replied softly. "So," he went on, still wiping his cheeks, "how long will you be in here?"

"A day or so for monitoring. Vi is going to stay with Ginny and Neville until I get out, since Neville can take her to school. We're shuffling all the kids around, it looks like," she said, laughing a little. "Like a bad game of musical chairs. Anyway. I'll be on bed rest for a few days."

"A few weeks, is more like it," Ginny spoke up.

Barclay went running back over to his dad when it was clear the private moment was over and settled back on his lap. Hermione rolled her eyes at Ginny.

"I'm going to lose my job if I take too much time-"

"The ministry's not going to let you go, Hermione. George went over this with you already," Ginny replied. "Besides, you were keen on the idea a few hours ago."

"Well I'm feeling much better now-"

"Nonsense," Ginny said. "Now, who will you be staying with when you get out? Neville and I were thinking Mum, but of course it will be up to you."

Hermione suddenly looked pale and Draco grew concerned. "Hermione?" he asked. "Are you al-"

"Fine," she said in a high-pitched tone. "Just trying to imagine what living with Molly waiting on me hand and foot for weeks on end will be like," she said, looking very much like a deer in the headlights.

Draco looked back over to Ginny and found the same look on her face.

"Oh dear," she said. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Well, you wouldn't," Hermione replied. "She's your mother."

"I like Mrs. Weasley," Barclay piped up suddenly.

That broke the silence and the two witches began laughing while Draco stared at them in consternation, trying his best not to join in the laughter. It was difficult when his son kept wriggling about in his lap, saying, "What? Why are they laughing? Did I make a joke? Dad?"

Of course, his son saying that had also cast the seed of an idea in his mind. Unfortunately he was still too emotionally exhausted to grasp hold of it and he could only shake his head. He looked back up at Hermione and smiled ruefully.

"So you don't know what you'll be doing? Why can't you go back to your flat?"

She shrugged helplessly. "The healer wants me on proper bed rest, for a week or two and then moderate for at least a month. That means I won't be allowed to do anything, really, except sit around and get fat, which means someone will have to be available to help with the cleaning, cooking, and Vi. Heaven only knows what she'll think when she sees me lying in bed like some lump. I'm not looking forward to it, believe me. I'm likely to go mental if I can't even do some paperwork while I sit there."

"Mum would teach you to knit if you stayed with her," Ginny offered, as if she was hanging a tantalizing carrot before her friend. Hermione gave her such a disparaging look she laughed aloud again. "Okay, never mind. I get it, you're not staying with Mum."

"Not longer than a day or two," Hermione insisted.

"Well, wherever you end up, Hermione," Draco said seriously, "I promise I will smuggle you paperwork."

That sent the witches into more peals of laughter and this time, Draco joined in. After a few more words and another embrace (tentative on Draco's side, warm on Hermione's), he gathered his son up and insisted on leaving her to her rest. Hermione protested a bit, but Ginny stood up as well, Viola on one hip, and agreed with him.

"Draco," Hermione said, "I'm so glad you're alright- I mean, that your name has been cleared, once and for all. I was so worried earlier-"

"I know. I'm sorry, Hermione."

"I know you are. Well, get on, then." She smiled and accepted Barclay's outstretched hand as Draco pulled back and suddenly gasped. Barclay was holding her hand tightly and a strange look had come over his face- a foreign, but loving expression she'd been all too familiar with once upon a time. The same feeling she'd had that night at The Brambles had returned in full force, but she recognized now that it was no feeling of hers; it was what Barclay felt for the tiny lives inside her, being transmitted to her through them. It was the most astonishing thing she'd ever felt and was more knowledge than feeling, even. Perhaps appropriately, it was simply magical.

"Will the babies be okay?" he asked her, to his father's astonishment. Draco had only heard the theories about his son's possible connection to Potter's other children. He hadn't seen his boy in action before and to his shame, it frightened him. What did this connection mean? The healers still weren't certain. Then, without warning, without waiting for an answer, Barclay leaned down out of his father's arms and placed a hand on Hermione's stomach. "Hello," he said to it, smiling softly.

"Yes," Hermione finally said after her initial surprise wore off. "They'll be okay."

Barclay tilted his head to look at her from his strange position and he regarded her solemnly.

"Okay, Barclay," Draco said, lifting his son up and away. "It's time to go." He smiled at Hermione apologetically, but she had eyes only for his son. "Why don't we stop in again tomorrow?" he suggested.

"What? Oh," Hermione said, coming back to the moment, "yes, that sounds fine. Thank you, for coming in tonight," she told him, focusing on his face. He still looked tired and concerned, but that was expected. Weren't they all, these days? "And it's alright," she added. "About…" She gestured to Barclay before Ginny brought Viola around to give her mum a hug and kiss goodnight.

Draco nodded and gave her one last wave before he followed the red-haired witch out the door. He glanced back at Hermione as the door closed and the view of her face lightened his heart: curiosity, warmth and peace. Acceptance. Barclay waved at her over his dad's shoulder and she waved in return as the door shut.

Ginny paused to mention to the healer on duty that they were all done with visiting and then they proceeded to the waiting area.

"Visiting hours are over," Ginny announced. "I'm taking Vi back home with me now, alright, Mum?"

Mrs. Weasley stood up and said goodbye to Narcissa and Ornella. "That's fine, dear," she said. "I'll just see you off and then head home, myself. I'll be sure and come back tomorrow." She waved, pressed a hand to Barclay's cheek in passing, and then followed Ginny down the hall. Ginny sent a smile around herself before she left, then they were both out of sight.

Narcissa and Ornella watched Draco as he looked after them, then stood up, themselves. Ornella gave Barclay and Draco hugs and then begged off, insisting she get back to her own house; but with a promise to meet them all for tea soon. She gave Barclay a final kiss and then headed off down the hall as well. Barclay waved after his grandmother- the only one he knew- until he couldn't see her any longer. Then he twisted back around in Draco's arms and stared at the blonde, but graying, witch in front of him.

"You're my other grandmum, aren't you?" he asked and Draco smiled slightly at the astonished and happy look on Narcissa's face.

"Pansy made sure he knew what you looked like," he explained and Narcissa nodded.

"Well," she said. "That's…nice. That's very nice. Hello, Barclay," she continued. "I am your other grandmum. You may call me Grandmére, if you like," she finished and watched him carefully, apprehension upon her face.

He screwed his own face up in thought and then smiled. "I like it. Hello, Grandmére," he said proudly. Then he looked up at his father. "Dad, I'm _sleepy_."

"I know," Draco replied. "I'm sorry. We'll go home now, okay?" He turned to Narcissa. "I know you want to talk- why don't you, uh, come back to the town home. I need to get him into bed," he explained, hefting Barclay a little and shrugging apologetically.

Narcissa appeared surprised for the second time that night, but nodded her assent. "That's fine, I suppose. Well, lead on," she murmured, gesturing to the door. Draco looked at her gratefully and proceeded to floo home in all haste, Narcissa right behind him.

* * *

After getting Barclay settled down for the night and reading an extra chapter of that ridiculous book about something called a hobbit (Draco secretly thought they were probably a lot like Nargles); he made his way down the stairs to the front parlor, where Narcissa was having some evening tea. Shackleton hadn't said a word about her presence, bless him, and it was with very little worry Draco shut the door of the parlor on them.

"Well, Mother," he said.

"Did you get him off to sleep okay?"

"Of course. He's doing much better since he's been spending time with Hermione and Viola. They think it's something to do with Potter's magic. At any rate, he should be back to school in another day, at the latest."

"Oh, that's good," Narcissa said. Her hands fluttered about the tea service. "Would you like some?"

"Mother," Draco said, "tell me what this is about."

"I just- I just want to make sure we're alright," she finally responded. "I don't know what I can do to start making up for all this time, especially since you won't come home and let me take care of you two-"

"We're fine where we are, Mother," Draco said. "It's best for Barclay that we stay here for now, anyway. For his recovery. But…I wouldn't be adverse to us spending a weekend here and there at the Manor, I suppose."

Narcissa's face brightened. "Oh, Draco- that would be…lovely. Just- lovely," she breathed. Without warning, tears filled her eyes and she turned away to daub at them. Draco watched her carefully for a moment or two. The intervening years had taught him a lot about women and he was suddenly surprised this particular thought had never occurred to him.

"You were as much a victim of Father as Pansy and I, weren't you?" he asked softly.

Narcissa went very still. "I don't know what you mean."

"Please, Mother. The time for secrets between us is past. Especially now that the truth has been revealed. All this time, Pansy and I- we wondered and worried, and for nothing. We blamed ourselves for something that was never our fault. She has paid the ultimate price for a madman's grief. Let's settle things now, Mother. While there's time. Please," he finished softly.

"Oh, Draco," she murmured. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," he replied. "I am too. And I want my son to know both his grandmothers. He'll need strong women in his life." Draco looked thoughtfully at her. "You were the only thing holding Father back from us, weren't you? All that time, all those threats he made against Pansy- you kept us safe from his hatred."

Narcissa made a sharp motion. "Don't be ridiculous," she said. "I-"

"I'm glad he's dead," Draco said suddenly, fervently. "Not all my memories of childhood are bad, but he did so much damage without meaning to- and he suffered as well, I know. He never could reconcile the two parts of himself, could he? The side that wanted to be a good husband and father, and the side that wanted to serve a murdering bastard. They were always at war."

"He did his best," Narcissa said firmly.

"He tried to do his best," Draco corrected. "Well," he said after a moment of silence, "enough of that. There's nothing to be done now, is there. More tea?"

"Draco," Narcissa said suddenly, reaching out and taking one of his hands, "I don't want you to go on thinking so ill of your father."

"No? It's too late for that, Mother. Oh, stop- I know he loved me, that's not what I mean. I just don't…see the point in sugar-coating things any longer. He died the way he lived- stern and alone and aching for a love he couldn't even return. I don't blame him for the way my life turned out. But I can't see him the way I used to, Mother. I'm not a little boy any more. Father long ago ceased to be the best man I knew."

"He'd be proud of you, Draco," Narcissa whispered. "I'm sure of it. In his own way, he'd be proud of you."

Draco laughed and if the sound was a little bitter, Narcissa didn't mind. She understood how he was feeling. She'd been married to the man, after all, hadn't she?

"I know, Mother," he said, shaking his head, repeating his words. "I know."

* * *

Draco sat up in his study after seeing his mother off, with a promise to owl regularly and to see her again soon. It had been a long, surprising and emotionally draining day, but he wasn't ready for bed quite yet. He wanted to think things over, catalogue them, come to terms with them. His mother's words, about taking care of him and Barclay and the manor, were swimming in his mind as Shackleton opened the door.

"Will Master Draco be needing anything else this evening?" he asked, clearly wondering if he might go to bed soon.

Draco glanced up at him and ran a hand over his hair, yawning and stretching as he did. "Oh, no, thank you."

"You ought to be in bed as well, Sir," the elf said, sniffing. Draco smiled at him and raised a brow.

"Ought I?"

"Yes. Merlin knows what trouble you would get yourself into without me. Sir," he added.

Draco laughed and suddenly grew thoughtful. There was that seed of an idea that had been germinating since his visit to Hermione. He glanced back at Shackleton. "Before you came to us," he said, "did you work for anyone else?"

The elf looked surprised. "I may have, Sir," he said cautiously. "May I ask why the master is asking this?"

"Oh, just wondering. How would it work if I asked you to take care of someone else, too? Would she have to be family?"

"Pardon me, Sir, but you'll have to give me clothes before I'll leave this household."

"Nothing like that," Draco hastened to explain. "Just on a part-time basis, say."

The elf's face cleared. "Ah, I see. But where would that leave you and young Master Barclay? If I split my time I would not be giving my full attention to this household. With the young master the way he is…"

Draco frowned. "I see what you're saying."

"If Master wants me to take care of another, might I suggest he brings her to live here, instead? Then I would not be splitting my time."

Draco nodded. "That would make sense…but the situation is…delicate," he finished. "I'll let you know if I decide anything, alright? Thank you, Shackleton," he added.

The elf nodded and winked out of existence. Draco stared at the spot where he'd been and began to think furiously.

* * *

**AN: Cookie? Coooookiiiieeee? :D Oh, hey, do ya'll like the quotes? I've loved using them- it's a little frustrating because sometimes I'll be done with the chapter and ready to post it and realize I never put a quote up top. Then I have to go back through all the other chapters and make sure I'm not repeating myself...LOL. So organized, that's me!**


	60. Small Stones

**Don't own Harry Potter; it all belongs to J.K. Rowling!**

**AN: Whew! 60 chapters! Good gracious, I never thought it would be this long when I started it. I feel this is some sort of landmark. So, without further ado, I present the first chapter leading definitively towards the conclusion. There will be no more plot twists except those of a relationship sort, and no one will be in mortal danger any longer. We can proceed with caution to the happy ending. Thank Heaven for small favors.**

* * *

_The man who removes a mountain begins by carrying away small stones._

_-William Faulkner_

* * *

Work the next day was slow and sympathetic. Slow because the business with the trial and the evidence against the new culprit was being handled directly by the administrative offices of the ministry; and sympathetic because nearly everyone had heard the news by the time he got to work. His family's tragic past was front page news for the first time in nearly ten years and Draco wasn't sure how he felt about it. It was unavoidable, he supposed.

At any rate, it meant that the day proceeded smoothly and so before long he decided to leave the main business of the department (aggrieved letters and lawsuits against muggle obliviation) up to Smith and focus on matters more domestic, himself. After all, only once the Wizengamot had passed its final judgment would his department be able to begin making official pronouncements on all their cold cases associated with the wards. So he pushed all thoughts of it from his mind and decided to deal with the little things.

First, he arranged with his son's school for Barclay to return the next day and the promise to collect any missed schoolwork. Second, he called the florist in Diagon Alley and purchased three arrangements, to be delivered to Madames Parkinson, Malfoy and Weasley. He thought that was the sort of thing Pansy would have liked to do, especially after how hectic yesterday had been. And none of them- certainly not Mrs. Weasley- were truly obligated to help him. He knew Ornella and Narcissa would have insisted it was their duty, but Mrs. Weasley had kindly watched over the son of her own sons' (adopted and biological) rival without a peep. Surely that merited flowers.

Finally, once he felt he'd handled all that appropriately, he turned to the idea he'd built up all night. He'd already spoken with Shackleton about the third floor of the town home and the elf had agreed that his plans could be easily put in place. An enchantment to make the staircases safe for children- to prevent their taking a tumble or somehow propelling themselves through or over the railings- was being added to all the stairs in the house. Draco had flipped open one of the catalogues Pansy had been so fond of and picked out some wallpapers and bedroom sets of furniture. There were already a few pieces in storage on that third floor, anyhow, but they were mostly parlor items- chairs and end tables and bookshelves. Draco had charged the house elf with clearing out the three rooms up there to make way for the refurbishing. It wasn't a strict remodel, though he did need to add one thing…

He flipped through his wizarding equivalent of the yellow pages and located the name and address he wanted, then wrote a swift letter inquiring about services. With a satisfied smile he sent the letter along to the ministry owlery. Then he took a very long lunch.

There was a reply waiting for him when he got back and he decided to do a bit of work before he delved back into his brilliant scheme. Upon seeing it was a positive response, he proceeded to send off three more owls: one to Ginny and Neville, one to Mrs. Weasley, and one to his mother, telling her that he and Barclay would visit her that weekend and asking that she please invite Ornella as well.

Then he swept all his other work aside in a careless, jaunty manner, and practically waltzed from the office. Smith raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything, unless one counted the snarky salute he pulled as Draco passed him.

Draco decided he was feeling magnanimous and only smirked in return.

* * *

He stopped at Diagon Alley on his way home to pick up supplies and then flooed home as well. If Ornella was surprised to see him home from work so soon, she didn't say anything. Barclay was glad to see his father, too and began poring over the interesting fabric and wallpaper samples with him. Ornella made herself busy in the kitchen, as Shackleton was still clearing out the upstairs. She also refrained from asking about the remodeling after she thanked Draco for the lovely flowers.

"Narcissi are my favorite," she said. "How did you know?"

Draco had only raised his brows. "Pansy told me, of course. She had all those things written down in a little book. Birthdays, flowers, food allergies. I like to think of that book as her gift to me. I'd be lost without her, even now that she's gone," he'd replied. Ornella had sniffed and muttered something in response before disappearing back into the kitchen.

A few minutes after Draco had arrived home and settled in, the witch sisters he'd contracted arrived. They were a pair of petite twins and he almost caught himself wondering how they were going to handle the construction before he reminded himself they were witches, after all. Merlin, he'd truly been immersing himself in the muggle life, hadn't he? He had a good chuckle over that before tramping up the stairs with them to inspect the space and discuss plans. Barclay insisted on going with him and ran about the three now empty rooms, making his voice echo and peering under the ancient rugs. The town home wasn't terribly old- only seventy years or so, but some of the rugs and things up on that third floor had been that way for the last nine years, at least, and possibly a good twenty before he and Pansy had ever moved in.

"So, will that be a problem?" he asked the sisters and they smiled at the same time. It was uncanny.

"Oh, no," said Dana.

"We don't think so," added Danae.

Callot Soeurs: Constructed with Love, was the line on their business card and though they no longer made the clothing their grandmothers had loved, they were very good at design of a different sort.

"Wonderful. Well, these are the samples I chose. It's only for a few months, so there's no need to make everything permanent- if it could be easily deconstructed that would be a bonus."

The sisters looked at him like he was mental. "Mister Malfoy," said one- he didn't know which, "when you are ready to return the rooms to their former state, or even redesign them, please call us again. We have a removal warranty."

"Ah, I see. Well, then," Draco murmured. "That's, er, wonderful. As I said, please, have at it-"

"So only a bathroom needs to be added and the fire places reopened," the other sister said.

"That's right."

"Alright. Give us the samples. The furniture arrives in half an hour and the fixtures soon, you said?"

"Right. Is that enough time-"

"Mister Malfoy," they said at the same time, "please remove your son and go. Come back in two hours."

"Alright," Draco said again. He did exactly as they asked and picked Barclay up, removing him quite bodily.

Barclay squealed with glee.

* * *

For the next two hours the third floor of the town home was heavy with magic, though it was rich with only love and light; and at the end of the allotted time- well after tea, a game of Accio!, and some healthy pleasure reading- Draco made his way back up the stairs with hope.

The sisters were just floating the final piece of furniture in place when he walked up and into what would be the new sitting room. The space was a bit smaller than it had originally been, due to the added bathroom, but Draco felt its coziness would only add charm.

And it was only for a few months.

"So, no kitchen?" Dana asked. "Are you sure?"

"No, this is perfect, thank you," he said hastily. "My house elf will bring the food to them, you see."

"Ah," Danae said knowingly.

"Hm," said Dana.

"Er," added Draco. "About payment…"

* * *

After the sisters had left, Draco let Ornella, Shackleton and Barclay all explore the brand-new upstairs. Ornella wiped her eyes a few times, he was certain. Barclay immediately got chocolate stains on a spot of dusky pink carpet. Shackleton scolded the young master and cleaned it quietly.

"Well, that's it," Draco said. "I'd better go see Hermione now."

Ornella turned to him, one eyebrow arched so high he was afraid it would disappear in her hairline. "You did all this without speaking to her first?" she said softly.

Draco nodded and rocked back and forth on his heels a bit. An old habit, shifting his weight like that, but one that he didn't feel bad about anymore.

"That's right. I know Hermione. She'd make all sorts of excuses if I hadn't done it all first. She'll still try to make excuses, but I've got her friends on my side now." He turned to Ornella. "Do you think I'm doing the right thing? For Barclay?"

Ornella looked a bit surprised and took a few seconds to compose her response. "You know, I think that Barclay likes Viola very much- that they are very good friends. And I think the healers are right, that prolonged exposure to Potter's children won't do him any harm. In fact, it's likely to continue doing him good. What I worry about in this case is you, Draco."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You just lost Pansy. Oh, I know it's been a couple of months- but you're still healing. So is Hermione. What I want to know is, is this what you want? What is best for you and for her?"

Draco looked uncomfortable. "You don't want me replacing her so soon."

"No, my dear. We've discussed that. I believe what you said, that you won't ever replace Pansy. Neither will Barclay. He's old enough to remember his mother and bright enough to keep that memory alive. That's not what I mean. I mean, how does- well, this is difficult- how will Hermione feel?"

Draco gazed at the bright morning glory vines that curled about the room upon the wallpaper and stared hard at them, as if they held the answer. "I don't know," he said honestly. "We felt a great deal for one another back then. In a childish way- the way teenagers do. All arms and hands-"

"And hips, yes, I know," Ornella murmured. "Pansy may have mentioned that once or twice. But you never got over her, did you?"

"No," Draco said. "I loved Pansy- still love her. But Hermione was always…"

"The first. Yes, I understand that quite well. Believe it or not," Ornella said quietly, "I had a first once upon a time, too."

"You did?" Draco murmured, surprised. He'd never really heard his mother-in-law discussing her husband or her life before marriage.

Ornella's face took on a gentle, reminiscent look and a smile curved her lips. "Oh, yes. But we were destined for other people. Not unlike you and Hermione."

"What happened?"

"Oh, well. The usual. She married her husband and I married mine," Ornella replied evenly, if wistfully.

Draco managed not to gawk and cleared his throat. "I had no idea-"

"Not many people did. It wasn't exactly approved of back then. We were very careful," she added. "You had to be. Especially under a monster like the Dark Lord. Light wizards and witches were disapproving enough back then. Dark ones were worse."

"But I thought-"

"Sexually diverse proclivities reined supreme among them? Nonsense. Only proclivities of a particular sort. Besides, same-sex couples didn't produce pureblooded heirs. That's not to say I didn't love Pansy's father- I did, very much. We built a life together, after all. But I never forgot her. How could I?"

Draco was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry, Ornella. Sorry for what you lost. Is she still…"

"Alive? Oh, yes." Ornella's face changed again, grew bittersweet.

"Do you think-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Ornella murmured. "That was a long time ago. We're old ladies now. Our lives have been...very different."

"Not that old."

"Anyway, it was a long time ago. We've both moved on."

"Have you?" Draco gave Ornella a shrewd glance and she colored lightly, then gave him a pat on the arm.

"Just take care of yourself, love. Don't let her slip away this time, if you're certain there can be more."

He shrugged and let her change the subject. "I won't. But we're just friends now. There's the promise of something else, you know, but for right now…I only want her to be happy- and in order for that to happen she needs to recuperate and have a healthy, safe pregnancy. It's the least I can do for her, after all she and her husband did for me- and Pansy."

"That's true enough." Ornella murmured. She stood admiring the new rooms a bit more, looking more wistful all the time and Draco was suddenly struck with a thought.

"Move in with us," Draco said impulsively. "There's still an extra two rooms on the second floor. The basement is for storage right now, not that there's much after remodeling these rooms- we could turn them into a suite for you. What do you say?"

"Oh, Draco- that's very- I'll have to think about it," she said finally.

"Barclay would love to have you," Draco said. "And so would I. You're going to be spending so much time over here anyway- I'd pay to have The Brambles looked after, kept up for vacations and weekend visits. What do you say?"

"Let me think about it," Ornella repeated firmly. "For now, go on to Hermione. I'll be here with Barclay. Alright?"

"Alright. Thanks, Ornella. Love you." He leaned down and gave the older witch a peck on the cheek, then hugged his son and waved good bye before he stepped forward and tested the brand new floo.

* * *

Draco arrived at the hospital to find Narcissa there before him. He didn't believe the healer at first, until he walked down the hall and saw her through the observation window. The door was open a crack and Draco hovered outside a moment. What was his mother saying? He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but after the conversation he and Narcissa'd had the night before, he was curious.

"Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Potter," Narcissa said. "I do wish you'd let me do something for you-"

"Draco explained everything yesterday, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione responded. "The fault belongs to neither of you. We've all been victims of a madman. No matter the grief he was feeling, his actions are inexcusable. It wasn't you who saw that my husband was crushed to death," she said softly.

"No, but he did save my grandson's life. At least let me-"

"You've already apologized for that time," Hermione said. "That's all I ever needed from you. I don't want you to think on it anymore."

Narcissa's hunched shoulders straightened up as she gazed back at the witch on the hospital bed. "Thank you, Mrs. Potter. I truly appreciate your time. I hope, if there is anything I can ever do-"

"I promise I'll remember what you've said," Hermione replied. "But don't think of it anymore. Please."

Narcissa stood up then and Draco moved back from the door and down the hallway again. He paused just short of the healer's station and turned around again in time to see Narcissa pulling the door closed after her. She began walking towards him, but only noticed him a few feet away. She smiled tentatively.

"Draco," she murmured, before he closed the distance and hugged her lightly.

"Mother."

Narcissa pulled away first, uncomfortable with being caught in the moment of kindness and sympathy.

"Oh, I received the lovely flowers, dear," she said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied. "I didn't know you liked pansies until I read it in her book. She knew everything about everyone, it seems."

"Hmm, yes," she murmured, inspecting her gloves as she pulled them on. "My favorite since I was quite young. I rarely received them. They were too common for pureblood nobility, you know."

"Ironic," Draco said with a tight smile.

"Not so," Narcissa said. "I always liked her," she insisted.

Draco's shoulders relaxed some. "I know. If not for…well. That's over. So what brings you here?"

Narcissa sighed. "You've guessed already, if you weren't eavesdropping. I was here to see your Hermione."

"She's not-" Draco began, but stopped when he saw his mother's face.

"Anyway, I just wanted to see how she was and offer my sympathy and help- and apologize for my husband's behavior. About ten years too late, but it's the best I could do. She's quite accommodating, that witch."

"She's been through a lot and learned how to forgive. It's what we do so we can move on with our lives."

"Don't lecture your elders, darling, it's quite rude. Now, I'll be on my way. And I have invited Ornella, though I don't know why you insist on having her over-"

"She's Barclay's other grandmother. I want him to know both of you. Besides, I worry that she's afraid she'll be left behind in all this- healing."

Narcissa's face changed imperceptibly. "Oh? Well, she's invited now," she went on briskly. "So no one will be leaving anyone behind in this family. I could also invite your young woman if you-"

"She is not my young woman, Mother," Draco replied. "Now, I really must talk to her- I'll see you this weekend. Take care." He gave Narcissa another brief hug and then walked down the hall. Narcissa watched him go with a sad smile on her face. Then she too turned and walked away.

Draco paused in the door way after he opened it and Hermione glanced over. She was out of the bed this time and had pulled on her robes and put her hair up.

"Draco!" she exclaimed. "Oh, your mother was just-"

"I met her in the hall," he said. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Hermione said. "I was just getting myself together. Ginny was supposed to owl me an hour ago and Molly hasn't shown up yet either- I'm sure they just got caught up in things, but it isn't like them not to owl at least, if they're to be late. Have you seen them?" He regarded her in silence as she tugged on her loafers and she straightened up quickly.

Give her another second, he told himself and sure enough, Hermione turned back to him.

"How did you know I would still b here? You have spoken to them, haven't you? Has something else happened? Did they send you-"

"Nothing like that," Draco said and gestured to the chairs in the room. "Have a seat, Hermione. I'd like to talk to you about something."

She sat down and raised an eyebrow at him. It seemed to him there were an awful lot of those going around lately. He wondered if it was just common to the women he knew or if he provoked that specific response.

"Go on," she said. "It's nothing serious, I take it."

"Not in the least. Just that, well, I think I have a solution to where you can stay for your bed rest- one that doesn't involve any time spent at The Burrow."

"I'm listening."

Draco didn't see any point in beating about the bush. "I've had the third floor of my town home remodeled. It didn't take much and I'd probably have had it done sooner or later, anyway. It's a good investment for my property. There are two bedrooms side by side and a common sitting area. The floor has its own bathroom as well. Shackleton won't be overworked at all by having an extra woman and child to look after and he's already agreed to the arrangement. It's perfectly private, except for the stairs that lead through the second floor- which I've had safeguarded against accidents with a few spells, in case you were wondering. Viola would be safe from tumbles. So, you'd never have to see myself or Barclay until you were well enough to go up and down the stairs. I could easily take Viola and Barclay to school for you, since they attend the same academy and there's an active, private floo for you as well. Your room is large enough for you to work from comfortably, once you're well enough to be off the bed rest, if you choose not to return to your flat. Ginny and Shackleton have already spent part of the day packing your things and transferring them. Now, what do you say?"

Hermione was quiet for several seconds.

"You seem to have thought of everything," she finally said. He sat back and looked at his hands.

"Had to. You'd argue at every turn if I hadn't."

"Except for one thing," she added. He glanced up at her. She smiled weakly. "There's the problem of how we feel for one another," she said.

He shook his head. "Like I said, you never need to see me. I know we're both still grieving. This is not part of some plan to get you to move in with me so I can seduce you, for Merlin's sake. You don't want to stay at The Burrow or your parents', you can't stay with the Longbottoms- they can't foist their children off on relatives forever- and your healer won't let you stay at your flat alone. I asked Shackleton if he could split his time between us, but this is the best arrangement. I just want to see you healthy and happy right now, Hermione. That's all. That's all I've wanted for you for a long time. The question of how we feel for one another only enters the picture if you want it to."

Hermione opened her mouth, shut it again. Draco reached forward and took her hands in his. "At least come see the place before you change your mind. You can bring Vi if you like. Ginny knows the floo already."

"You did all this- you owled Ginny and Molly, told them the change of plans-"

"I suggested it and they responded positively," he corrected her. "And then I did it. With their blessing. Please, Hermione," he pleaded. "Let me do this for you."

Hermione sighed and tugged her hands free of his. "Fine. I have the feeling I'm giving in much more easily than you deserve, but fine. I'll come look at it, at least. Ginny's going to bring Vi over, you say?"

"That's right," he replied, trying not to look too pleased.

Hermione frowned at him. "Stop smirking that way. I know you're pleased with yourself, Draco Malfoy. I can't believe you're still being so high handed with me- you always were. I guess some things never change."

He frowned at her in response. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You heard me," she said.

"I thought you'd be pleased with this-"

"Oh, I am," she said, outright scowling by that point. "I just- you could have asked me first, you know. Rather than get everything finished and then tell me what I'm to do. You could have asked me. If you've changed, I have to. I'm not going to bite your head off just for an idea-"

"Hermione, I'm sorry," he said quickly. "But when it comes to me you've never listened first and asked questions later."

"That's not fair," she said softly and he had to look at her face, at the smile hovering there, to reassure himself she wasn't upset. "I listened over the wards, didn't I?" He stared at her, remembering quite a few moments when she hadn't and she cringed. "Okay, bad example- sorry! And now is clearly not the time to try and solve all our communication problems. Fine. Consider my mouth sealed."

She made a zipping and locking motion and then pretended to throw away the key. Draco couldn't help himself. He reached over and grabbed the wayward hand, pretending to steal the key away from her He carefully put it in his pocket.

"I'll take that, thanks."

Hermione giggled and Draco used his grasp on her hand to pull her closer.

"I'd hoped they weren't shut permanently," he whispered before catching her lips with his. He released her almost as quickly as he'd caught her and she stared up at him, wide-eyed. He flushed. Damn it all, he had _not_ meant to do that.

"Sorry- sorry-"

"No, I-"

They were saved by the healer. "Ah, Mrs. Potter. Ready to go, I see? Alright. Here's that prescription- bedrest, plenty of care, healthy foods, water. Will someone be there to take care of you? Ah, your house elf, Mr. Malfoy? That's in order then. Well, I expect to see you in a week for a check up. I can come there if you prefer, just owl me if there's trouble. Best wishes, Mrs. Potter, best wishes. Here, take the wheelchair- oh, you're flooing straight out? That's alright then. G'bye, then. G'bye!"

Draco shuffled Hermione out with one arm about her shoulders, casting glances back at the healer every few feet.

"He's certainly…efficient."

"Oh, stop. He's kind and good at his job and impatient to have that bed back. You can take your arm away, Draco, I can walk perfectly, oh for God's-"

* * *

Her protests disappeared into the green flame and died on her lips as soon as they stepped out and into the cozy sitting room. Draco continued to support her as he glanced about as well.

"Looks like Ginny's not here yet. Would you like the tour first?"

Hermione nodded silently and didn't even bother to shrug his arm away from her. She could see the top of the stair well where it came up into the little room. There was a white rail about it and the wallpaper was morning glory vines boasting delicate white and purple flowers with yellow centers on a cream background. The carpet was a pale yellow and the armchairs embroidered in flowers of their own- green and purple. There was a table for eating at, or doing homework, and a few side tables. An ancient wireless stood in one corner and a flat screen hung on one wall- _her_ flat screen, she realized before she could protest about the money he must have spent. There were two dormer windows that looked over the fenced garden of the town home and a flower box even sat outside one window sill. Creamy lace curtains covered the windows. It was very cozy and provincial and Hermione was enchanted.

"The bathroom I just had done, but the upstairs needed one, so it's not a loss to me," Draco said, eager to assure her that he hadn't really gone to so much trouble for her. She nodded and wandered in. There was a tub with shower overhead, if one wanted it. The bathroom was done in purples, cream and white and Hermione ran a hand lovingly along the porcelain veneer on everything.

"It's lovely," she whispered.

Draco flushed and gestured over to the other two doors off the sitting room. "And the bedrooms, just over here-"

He opened one door and Hermione glanced inside. "For Viola, I see," she said. There was a child's bed with guard rails- a little Victorian antique piece with a curling white, metal head and foot board topped with brass balls on each poster. Another dormer window in this room let in the last rays of the winter sun through bright blue and white curtains, hitting the white child sized dresser. Hermione smiled, taking in the light blues and greens of the bedspread and walls. There were only a few pink items in sight- a throw pillow on the bed and the bunny rabbit sitting on the child's toy chest. It was, Draco had from Ginny, a beloved toy given her by Harry.

"Her favorite color is blue," Hermione admitted. "How did you- Ginny, wasn't it?"

Draco shrugged. "Actually, Barclay went over the samples with me."

She sighed. "I should have known. He's already learning manipulation for a master, isn't he?"

Draco decided not to take the bait and instead ushered her into the master room. Dusky rose and cream and white in this room, with touches of gold. Gryffindor. Hermione wondered if Draco had done that on purpose or subconsciously. The master bed was big and fluffy and looked abominably comfortable and she had no doubt she would actually enjoy some of the bed rest if she were ensconced there. Again, there was a dresser and room enough for a wardrobe, too. There was a desk under another dormer window- wide enough to house three projects, she noted with pleasure and she turned to him impulsively to hug him.

"You really do mean to smuggle me work, don't you," she said and felt him laugh as his arms finally went about her as well.

"I said I would, didn't I?"

"Oh, Draco, it really is lovely- are you sure-"

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't," he said. "There are perks for me as well," he pointed out. "Barclay will get to spend more time around Viola, which is good for him, but we can still separate them if it's too much. And it'll be nice to have…another adult around," he admitted. He'd never say he'd been lonely, but Hermione knew what he meant. Her heart skipped a beat for the first time in months. She drew back and he parted his arms a bit reluctantly.

"You need more time," he said softly.

"We both do," she replied, looking away. "But I don't see why I can't stay here while I take it. If it doesn't work, I can leave once I'm able, you said that yourself."

"That's true," he allowed and stepped further away. "Well, perhaps we should see where Ginny and Viola are," he began to say and Hermione stepped towards him again, closing the distance he'd just created. The air sparked.

"Draco, I-"

He put out his hands. "Hermione, you just said it- we both need-"

She looked up at him, eyes wide as they'd been earlier, in the hospital…before the healer had interrupted them.

"I know I did," she breathed.

It was with a great effort that Draco crossed his arms and walked backwards from the room.

"Then let's give it time," he said. "Let's mean what we say, this time around. I know we've been chumming for a few weeks now, but a lot has been going on recently. I expect you're feeling overwhelmed- I am too."

Hermione closed her eyes. What was wrong with her? She felt thoroughly ashamed of herself- forcing the issue that way after insisting they take it slow. After wanting so much to be just friends. One kiss and she felt like she was on fire. And now, seeing the tender care he'd taken to make sure she and her daughter would be happy and comfortable- the length to which he'd gone for her, why, it seemed to send her heart into back flips. He'd always been willing to go to such lengths for her, she knew, but it was different now. It meant something different. He wasn't doing it entirely for selfish reasons now. Now, when she'd already picked the other man over him once, born said man's child, was bearing more of his children…the gentle acceptance Draco had given the situation and the desire he was still showing for her, despite it all…

And then, as quickly as the situation had arisen, it was broken with a single sound.

"Mummy!"

It was followed with, "Shouldn't you be back in bed by now, Hermione?"

Draco stepped back to let Viola run past him and into her mother's arms and Ginny followed the girl, looking about curiously. She gave Draco a surreptitious thumbs up and he smiled in relief, not that she liked it, but that her entry with Viola had saved him from…what? He would have liked very much to kiss Hermione again, in fact, but she wouldn't have been happy about it in the end. She would have beaten his brains out later, he was certain- well. Maybe not that bad. He couldn't help wanting to kiss her- he nearly always wanted to kiss her. And it was a turn on, definitely to have her staying under his roof, no matter how noble his original motives. Being turned on was just an unfortunate side effect of trying to do this good deed. He suspected that her hormones were probably partly to blame, too- the stability and security of the situation after all the months of uncertainty probably helped along whatever attraction was still there- and hadn't their encounter at Ornella's proved there was an attraction?

Whatever. He would hardly ever see her, right? That was the point of this set-up. He could focus on being a good supervisor and a great father and get on with his life. With Hermione Potter, née Granger, living under the same roof. One floor above him. Dealing with crazy, sexual, pregnancy hormones. Sleeping on a cozy bed, one floor above him.

Hell. He was clearly going to hell. How he was going to tell Barclay that he wouldn't see him in Heaven someday, he wasn't sure. Well, hopefully he had some time to figure that part out. He glanced up and caught Hermione staring at him again as Ginny babbled to her and he ran a hand over his hair.

On second thought, maybe he didn't have as much time as he hoped. _Merlin, Harry_, he thought. _When I agreed to take this on, to make her happy, I never thought it would be this hard._

An answer came to him on the wind, though all the windows were closed and there was no draft.

_Don't let the memory of me make it hard._

Draco gave a start and cast a second glance at Hermione. She was focused on Ginny again and letting the other witch lead her into the bedroom to get her settled on her healer's orders. She was smiling, and any nerves she'd demonstrated about the idea seemed to have passed. In fact, she looked touched by the whole affair and her pleasure appeared genuine. Still, Draco was determined to hold to their bargain. Get to know one another first, romance second. She had too much on her mind. The voice spoke again.

_Or maybe not enough. You're not being fair to her. Perhaps a little light and laughter and comfort are exactly what she needs to get her through the next few months. _

Draco tried to pretend the words were his own thoughts and not some split personality imitating Potter. He sighed. Perhaps the voice was right. Perhaps all those things were exactly what he needed, too. But for right now, he would do his best not to force the issue- or to let Hermione force it.

Time would settle things between them on its own. Of that much, he was confident. It was the length of time that was up for debate.

* * *

**AN: I want cake for my efforts this time. Cookies are simply no longer enough to sate my muse.**


	61. Mother and Daughter

**I don't own Harry Potter at all; everything belongs to J. and her associates!**

**AN: Sorry this chapter is so short- gotta have a few in between the novellas! And the quote at the end is from Elizabeth Gaskell's Wives and Daughters. Thought it was appropriate. It was either that or A Little Princess. I'm such a sap.**

* * *

_As though a rose should shut and be a bud again._

_-John Keats_

* * *

Hermione let Ginny tuck her into bed while Ornella and Barclay both came by to say hello. Viola crawled up onto the bed next to her mother and snuggled in beside her. Hermione rather felt like she was holding court, especially when an orange mass stalked into the room and settled at her feet.

"Crookshanks!" she cried, delighted. "I see you and Shackleton didn't forget anything," she said to Ginny.

Ginny continued to fluff pillows. "We weren't sure he'd want to come along at first, but he finally sauntered through the floo with me. Dunno where he's been since then."

"Exploring," Barclay supplied. "We were in the basement," he said proudly, showing off his scuffed shoes and the dirt on his knees.

"Young man-" began Ornella, taking him by the collar. "Pardon us, dear," she said to Hermione. "We'd best be going. I'm sure I'll see you soon, of course."

"Goodbye," Hermione called, waving to them both. Barclay kept casting glances over his shoulder, his eyes hovering between the mother and daughter. He was as concerned as his father was, that much was obvious. Hermione felt very blessed, suddenly, to be living with two men who cared for her family so well. She smiled at the thought and shook her head. Well. One man and little boy, at least. It was comforting and that in itself was a new sensation to associate with the Malfoys.

Barclay's voice drifted back to them from the sitting room. "Dad, I love cats- can we have a cat? Crookedshanks is the best, Dad! He's like a lion, or, or a Tiger- Rawr!"

Hermione bit her lip and Ginny snorted some while Viola kicked her feet up and down on the comforter.

"Mummy, can I sleep in here tonight?"

Hermione exchanged a glance with Ginny, who shrugged.

"Well, I don't see why not. As long as you promise to yell loudly if I roll on top of you."

"Mummy!" the little girl squealed, but hugged her mother tightly anyway. "And can Barclay come too?"

Hermione frowned that time. "I'm afraid not, sweetheart. Maybe later. He'd probably rather spend the night in his own bed. But maybe you could have a sleepover sometime, now that we're living upstairs from him."

Viola's eyes shone. "I'll go ask him!" And she was shimmying off the bed and out the door without another word. Draco poked his head inside and smiled at them both.

"Everything alright? All settled?"

"Yes, thank you," Hermione said. "Draco, I didn't ask you at the hospital- what would you like for rent? It is your house elf, after all-" she stopped as a thought occurred to her. "Do you pay him?" she asked suspiciously and Draco chuckled.

"I do. He's got the loyalty of an inherited house elf, but yes, he's paid a salary. Not that I know what he does with it. Probably stuffs it under his mattress, for all I know."

Hermione looked relieved and Ginny took the opportunity to break into the conversation. Her expression said everything to Draco: _you're on your own now. Try telling her you won't take her money for rent. I'll enjoy wiping your guts off the ceiling. _

Aloud she said, "Well, I'd better be going, myself. Promised Nev I'd be home early. He was going to put Heidi to bed before I get there," she added suggestively with a wink. Hermione groaned but accepted her hug goodbye anyway. Draco settled for a handshake, but was surprised by a hug as well and after that they could hear Ginny in the sitting room, saying goodbye to Viola, who was just coming back up the stairs. They listened for Vi's footsteps, but they carried the little girl into her own room from whence came the sound of toys and pillows being tossed about.

Hermione smiled broadly and raised her brows at Draco. "Sounds like she's enjoying herself already. I'll have a hard time getting her to do her homework."

Draco shrugged. "What homework does a four year old have? Two plus two is four?"

"She'll be five very soon. And she's smart, but arithmetic is not her strong suit…yet," Hermione allowed, plucking at the bed cover. Crookshanks shifted in his spot and turned to yawn a mouth full of teeth up at Draco. He licked his lips appreciatively and Draco took a step back.

"Er," he said.

"Oh, don't mind him," Hermione said. "He's marking his new territory. Now, about the rent-"

"Hermione, I won't accept rent," Draco said as firmly as possible. "If you absolutely must, you may chip in for utilities and groceries and any other special needs you have. Would you like muggle cable, for instance?"

Hermione stared hard at him and he shrugged again. "That's it, take it or leave it," he said.

"I'll find a way of paying you back," she finally responded in a quiet voice.

"That's fine," he replied. "But I figure you're family by proxy, you know. We're all in this recovery together. You, me, our children, Ginny and Neville, George, our parents…we have to learn to take care of one another sometime. Let this be my turn. I did nothing for you once upon a time but offer you impossibilities. Let this be mine."

_Let this be my atonement_, were his unspoken words. They sat heavy on the air between the two and Hermione finally sighed and smiled.

"Alright," she said. Her brown eyes took in his lean figure, shoulders hunched as he leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, pale hair swept back from a distinctive, drawn face. _The noble house of Black_, she thought wryly. And how noble it was, now, living through him. She couldn't help but wonder briefly- as she often had in the past- if this was how Ron might have turned out, if he'd lived. If given the chance for total redemption and forgiveness, would he have risen to the challenge in the same way? She liked to think so. What if it had been him standing there now, ready to take Harry's place? He'd never quite gotten over her, after all…a sore point between the three of them right up until the moment of his death…his sacrifice. Yes, all the brilliant young people she'd known that had passed on- they'd all shown themselves to hold that spark of genius, of courage. Even Draco had, when offering his impossibilities _once upon a time_. She smiled softly.

That part of her life was over for good. The last of the Golden Trio sat in a bed on the top floor of her once-greatest rival's home and the span of time- of insults and injuries and so-called impossibilities- stretched between them in a silent chasm…but there was a bridge across and its name was Experience. And Hermione could see Harry standing there, with a kind and much changed Ron at his side, beckoning her across.

She went.

"Thank you for this, Draco," she said, breaking the silence. He jerked his head up and looked at her, startled from his own thoughts.

"Pardon?"

"Thanks," she repeated. "For all this. It's lovely. I think Viola and I will have a very nice time here. That it will be good for us. It was really a brilliant idea, Draco."

His high cheeks colored lightly and he smiled back awkwardly. "Good. I'm glad you like it. Well, I'd better be off now, myself. If you need Shackleton, just call his name or snap or something. He responds best to his name, I think."

"Draco," Hermione said, stopping him as he went out the door. He turned to look back at her again.

"Yes?"

"Er- perhaps we might all have dinner together, some night? As soon as I'm allowed up, I mean."

He smiled more genuinely this time. "Of course." Then he was gone again. Viola came to her doorway and waved at him.

"Bye Mr. Malfoy!" she said brightly. "Hey!" she suddenly yelled, stopping his progress. He looked at her patiently. "Will you play bunnies with me?"

Draco's mouth worked furiously to keep from laughing. "I can't tonight. I'm sure Barclay and I would love to join you tomorrow, though. How does that sound? Perhaps you could come visit us."

"Okay!" she replied and proceeded to wave enthusiastically once more until he was out of sight down the stairs. Then she went back into her mother's room and crawled back on the bed.

"I ate already," she informed her mother seriously. Hermione looked down at her and smiled. "So did I. Did Aunt Ginny tell you all about why I'm in this bed and why we moved?"

"Uh-huh. So my baby brother and sister will be okay," she replied.

Hermione hugged her gently. "That's right…but we don't know if they're a boy and girl yet, remember?"

"They are, they are! Barclay told me so," Viola said, settling in against her mum. Hermione was quiet as she considered what her daughter had said and then sat up again. "Mummy, want me to change for bed now? I can get dressed on my own."

"Alright," Hermione murmured. "Don't forget to brush your teeth, too."

"Then we'll go to bed? After you read to me? And I can bring Won-Won?"

Hermione smiled. "Yes. We'll read and you can bring Won-Won."

Delighted, her daughter slid off the bed once more and ran in search of her pajamas, her toothbrush and her pink stuffed bunny whom Harry had named Won-Won in a fit of contrariness.

Hermione reached for the books stacked on her bedside table to select a nice chapter book for the duration of her bed rest. Crookshanks raised his head and stared at her, his tail flicking mildly. She held up The Hobbit and he meowed and sank his front claws in the comforter.

"No Tolkein," she murmured. "Alright. How about some Coville, then? Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher? No? Then what about…no, Anne Rice is not acceptable for children," Hermione said after he'd wandered over and pawed at a particular volume. "How about…oh, for Merlin's sake. How did Nora Roberts end up in this stack? That woman…I wish Ginny had picked up some different muggle habits from listening to her dad all those years…ah, I see just the one," she finally said, just as Viola ran back in the room, her bunny trailing behind her.

After getting them both tucked in and waving her wand in order to make sure all the lights elsewhere in the small apartment were turned out, Hermione picked up the slim volume she'd chosen. Viola snuggled against her under her arm and peered at the cover.

"We've never read that one, Mummy," she said softly, sleepily.

"No, we haven't, love. Now listen. Are you ready? Got Won-Won? Good." Crookshanks settled in next to Viola, purring loudly as the little girl's other hand stroked his head; and Hermione's voice finally began to weave its spell over the dusky, cozy room.

"_To begin with the old rigmarole of childhood. In a country there was a shire, and in that shire there was a town, and in that town there was a house, and in that house there was a room, and in that room there was a bed, and in that bed there lay a little girl; wide awake and longing to get up, but not daring to do so for fear of the unseen power in the next room…"_

Viola was impressed with a lifelong love of Elizabeth Gaskell from that moment on, and it didn't take her long to drift to sleep, despite wanting to know what happened to little Molly Gibson at the large gala. Hermione went to sleep dreaming of the gala as well, though her imagination produced a fête that took place on the grounds of Malfoy Manor; and the man who rode out to meet her and her young daughter looked nothing like the darkly handsome squire of the novel's pages. No, indeed. Her dream's lordship bore quite fair coloring instead.

* * *


	62. Good Intentions

**I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**AN: I'm moving the timeline along here, so bear with me. We've got to get this show on the road. So, as adorable as writing a family Christmas would be, I'm skipping it. Let's get to the good stuff! We've waited long enough for it already, right?**

* * *

_Time ripens all things, no man is born wise._

_-Miguel De Cervantes_

* * *

Over the course of the next few months, life progressed smoothly- peacefully, even. The holidays were upon them and past without a peep of trouble (though a bit on the chaotic side). Hermione's bed rest went so well that the healer switched her to partial; allowing her to be up and tend to her daughter's welfare better; in addition to completing the work which Draco smuggled home for her. Neville was assigned a series of front page articles dealing with Cerberus Sprout and his reign of terror; while Ginny was able to organize their lives to better deal with both her growing quidditch career and family. Mrs. Weasley and the Grangers both dropped by the new town home's flat regularly to bring smaller, quieter versions of family dinners to Hermione and Viola; and Fred even took time off of work to get Harry's things organized for the holiday charity auction (which raised a ridiculous sum of money).

Melusine and George were kept very busy and worked together closely enough that a few tongues at the ministry began wagging (all in a day's work, Fred said in passing more than once with a wink and a nudge directed at his politician brother). Percy planned out his course work and smoothly took over the Charms position after the holidays. Ornella was convinced to move into the town home after much arguing, much to Barclay's endless delight- until he realized she insisted he wash behind his ears with the same fervor his mother always had. Shackleton was actually quite pleased with the new living arrangements. A busy house elf was a happy house elf, he'd always said- mostly to himself, of course. And Narcissa had begun a Saturday dinner ritual to rival Molly Weasley's Sunday dinners.

Christmas itself went very well, indeed, despite there being three of them for the residents of the Malfoy town home (Molly insisted they all come to the Burrow, at which point Narcissa insisted everyone visit Malfoy Manor, and Hermione nearly threw a fit to ensure they had a quiet dinner at the town home as well). Suffice it to say, Christmas Eve, Day and Boxing Day were very busy. (Molly, for her part, was completely flummoxed. She couldn't recall a time a Weasley had ever been welcome at the Malfoy ancestral home.)

In the midst of the chaos, however, everyone was supremely happy. Even Crookshanks decided he was getting decidedly better care living at the Malfoys' than he had at Hermione's flat. Shackleton never stooped so low as to give him leftover casserole, for instance. No, it was all home made beef stews and sausage gravies for him, these days. (Not to mention the mice and voles he'd discovered sneaking into the basement from the back garden.) None of that Fancy Feast crap the muggles living next to the Longbottoms had occasionally set out for him. Or worse still, that dry food Hermione had insisted on giving him a great deal of the time.

In all, everyone was quite pleased.

Which was why Draco wondered why he felt so dissatisfied. He should be thrilled, shouldn't he, that his name had been cleared. That his family had been vindicated- his son saved and back in school with flying colors; his mother living her life again without the shadow of Death Eaters over her; his mother-in-law sharing in his new life with him, being included and loved... His department saved- not to mention the new notice of the ministry. Hadn't five of his people in the last two weeks received raises? Including himself? And the budget for his department was under review for a much needed increase- why, in the last three days alone he'd interviewed a dozen applicants for three new positions, and it was only just after the new year. Positions he'd created out of mid air because George had told him to do what was necessary, no holding back. In addition to all that, justice had been served for over ten previously cold cases. Of course, they still had hundreds more to address, but it was a start, by golly. After years of ineptitude and being ignored by everyone else, he was like the director of a blockbuster success in London's West End, and everyone wanted a piece of the profits.

He should have been over the moon.

Instead, though he did his job with the same tight smile he'd worn the last five years; and performed above expectations every time, leading his team through victory after victory; when he went to bed at night he was restless. His mind raced, chasing an idea he couldn't catch hold of; eager for…what? He sighed and pitched his snapped quill across the room. Here he'd been, reading a final review of the same report for the last two hours; snapping his quill in frustration, throwing it away, summoning it back, and mending it, only to snap it again minutes later. All he had to do was read it and sign it. Read it and sign it…well, read it, understand it and then sign it. And that was the problem. He couldn't seem to focus long enough for the jargon he'd been using half his life to come together in a cohesive thought.

"The parties in this case, the aggrieved muggle Lucas Lodge and squib Sarah Lawrence hereby request a hearing for the underlined procedure which will heretofore…argh!"

Snap went the quill again. A knock sounded on the door and he looked up. Smith.

"Yes?"

"Got that report reviewed and signed yet?"

"No," Draco said shortly. "No, no, no. Now go away."

"Merlin, it's just a signature, Malfoy-"

"Go away," Draco repeated slowly.

"It's almost quitting time, mate. Don't you have a lovely houseguest to be getting back to? It's Friday evening, after all. You must have plans…oh, Merlin. You don't have plans."

Malfoy glowered at Smith, who returned his gaze with raised brows.

"Come on, Malfoy. How long is it going to take you? You've got to have plans. We've got a pool going on how long it takes to post the bans-"

"If you don't go away, Smith-"

"Christ, it was just a joke, Malfoy. Come on, what's the matter with you? Unless that really is what's the matter with you."

"I have no idea-"

Smith cut him off once again, a stern look upon his face. Draco wondered when the man had finally grown a backbone, and if he was aware he was going to have to grow a new one in a few minutes if he didn't leave immediately.

"You're mad about Potter. We know that. Everyone knows that. And she's got her own set of issues when it comes to you, right? But you're at least friends now. We all assumed when she moved in that it was only a matter of time, but if it's not happening, then it's no wonder you're so bloody down in the mouth."

"What is that supposed to mean? I've got a smile on my face now, haven't I?"

"Oh, you're the soul of cheer, boss. Let me put it this way- if I didn't already know it was a sunny day up there, I'd be reaching for my umbrella before I left after seeing your face, wouldn't I? No one's said anything about the way you're handling the department, Malfoy. That's not it. You're amazing. And you pat us on our backs and give us grins when we need them, but ever wonder why I'm the only one delivering your mail or coming near your office these days? And," he continued, cutting Draco off, "those witches in here for the interviews don't count. They're all out to marry the newest Witch Weekly Top Widower."

"Don't be obscene," Draco grumbled.

"I won't. They will. Look, just talk to the woman already, will you? Or one of us will, if she's having such a hard time catching on. God you need to get some, Malfoy."

"She's six months pregnant, you twat- now get the hell out of here!"

"Sign that damned review first so I can file it and go home, myself, and I will."

Draco rolled his eyes, swore a bit more, and scrawled his signature along the bottom. Then he threw the quill and the review at Smith, who grinned cheekily and beat a hasty retreat. Draco sank back in his chair, head in hands.

He was so screwed. Smith was right, of course. Hermione was the problem. And it wasn't even that she hadn't caught on. She had. Oh, she had. How many times had she made a pass at him the last two weeks, even? The problem was that growing belly of hers- no, that wasn't really it, either. Draco had no shame when it came to his…physical feelings for her. But something was making him hold back, and that was the thing keeping him awake at night. He knew part of it was self-pity, wondering why in Merlin's name she'd want him at this point. They had chemistry, sure, and history, and they'd both lost someone dear and were ripe for the picking, emotionally speaking. It would be so easy for him to slide under the door while she was looking for closure and hope and stability…but he didn't want it to be that way. He wanted what they had- if they would have something- to be real.

And he had no idea, aside from continuing to be her friend and go with her to school functions and take her paperwork and pick up her favorite ice cream, how to move things along. It couldn't be as simple as letting her kiss him when she wanted to, because that would only lead to other things and she was in no condition- it was too soon- damn it all. He'd promised to take things slow, hadn't he?

That was the problem. There would always be another excuse, in his mind. It wasn't Harry's memory making things difficult, it was the guilt he still carried over his own childish actions. He just couldn't seem to get comfortable with the situation. Not yet. Not as much as he wanted it- wanted her. He'd screwed things up so royally the last time that things had to be perfect this time around. He had to be the best version of himself possible, or else it wouldn't work. He wouldn't be able to make her happy, or keep her happy.

He snapped his quill again, stared at it a moment, then dropped it on his desk. It was past time to go home. Pick up his kids- no, his son and her daughter…though it was getting harder to think of them that way. (They were his now, too, by default.) Pick them up, swing by the ice cream shop (though it was too cold for ice cream), and take them all home. With a sigh he stood up and did up his coat and scarf. Then he grabbed his bag and made for the door. Smith was right. It was high time he had plans.

The question was, how did he go about making them?

* * *

For her part, Hermione wondered what the hell was taking him so long. Sure, she was pregnant with her late husband's twins. And maybe she was a workaholic despite the fact that she hadn't set foot in her office in months. And it was certainly true that she was demanding and overbearing when it came to her family's needs. But that had never stopped him before. Of course, they'd also been about sixteen before, but honestly. The few kisses they'd shared had proved they still had that chemistry.

She'd said all the right things, done all the right things. There had been no mention of her moving out, even though her healer had declared her fit to move back into her flat without twenty-four hour care. For one, she enjoyed being around Draco and his son. Viola loved their new so-called flat. Ornella was a fascinating, complicated witch and she loved having conversations with her. Even Narcissa was an interesting companion from time to time. (Although it was puzzling how often she stopped by only to discover her son wasn't in. One would think she'd be aware of Draco's schedule by now.) The time she spent with Draco, poring over extra case files he brought home, or sitting with him in front of the fire, trading stories about the office or their children, was rewarding. Reassuring. They'd even opened up with one another about their childhoods and their time at Hogwarts. She'd always suspected they could be great friends, but the time had never been right, and then they'd hurt one another so badly back then…but now they had all the time in the world. Hadn't Harry himself even pushed her to forgive Draco and move on, more than once?

She had the feeling Harry had wanted this for them, too. Not that she thought he'd expected to leave her and Viola so soon, or ever, really; but maybe he'd known she and Draco would need one another in some capacity, someday. And now they were under the same roof and were helping one another heal and the sexual tension in the town home had reached a boiling point. They were acting like a happy family without any of the other perks of being a happy family and she was getting pretty damned tired of the games. The kind where Draco would kiss her cheek or forehead at night after sharing a bloody touching moment and then leave without saying a word. Or when they would spend the day together after seeing their kids off to their respective grandparents' homes for several hours, only to part ways at eight thirty at night without a by your leave. She was pregnant, for Merlin's sake, not dying. And just because she'd lost one man she'd loved didn't mean there wasn't another standing right in front of her.

It wasn't even a matter of replacing Harry. It was simply something that was going to happen. They were inevitable. They'd been inevitable since the moment he'd kissed her suddenly, unexpectedly, in the hall outside the library at school, sixth year. Since he and Harry had beaten each other senseless. Since he'd pushed her into a photo booth, swung her about the dance floor, and gotten into her knickers in a broom closet. She hadn't needed Lavender's ridiculous predictions to tell her fate had it in for her when it came to Draco Malfoy. She'd figured that out all on her own.

Of course, thinking about all that only reminded her of how much he'd annoyed her back then…and then she'd just end up angry about how dense he must be not to realize that she expected him to make the first move…or that he was taking way too long to do it.

And then Draco would wonder why she was in such a foul mood, assume it was his fault (which it was, but not for the reasons he thought); and back even farther away, sending her into an even worse mood.

It was a vicious cycle.

Barclay and Viola were getting quite tired of it, to say the least.

"Stop stealing my crayon," Barclay said patiently as Viola grabbed for the golden stick in his hand. "I'm drawing a crown."

"For who?"

"For whom," he corrected her. Viola stuck out her tongue, but sidled closer to him anyway. It was just after dinner and they were on the floor of his bedroom, looking through all his old coloring books. He was deciding which ones to give away now that he had his new haul of activity books from Christmas.

"Your mum," he replied. "She's the queen."

"My mummy is not a queen."

"That's what Grandmère called her. She and Mrs. Weasley were laughing about it. They said she was…holding court," he finished, screwing up his mouth. He thought he'd gotten it right. "So I'm making her a crown."

"Then I'm a princess," Viola said primly, her tongue sticking from between her lips as she colored Merlin's beard a bright blue. "And that makes you the prince. The prince has to rescue the princess. Then they get married," she added.

Barclay wrinkled his nose. "I can't marry you if we're brother and sister."

Viola glanced at him, eyes wide. "Oh. You could still rescue me though, since you're not my brother yet. Is your daddy ever going to marry my mummy? I'd like you for my brother. Anyway, not all princesses and princes get married, I think."

Barclay looked somewhat relieved. It was fine for the grown-ups to talk about getting married, after all, but six and five was a bit young, wasn't it? Even if he was totally besotted. Not that he knew what that word meant, but he'd heard Grandmum using it.

"They aren't ever going to get married if they keep fighting."

Viola scribbled Merlin's name across the top of the page before giving him purple lipstick. "They don't fight that much. We fight more, I think." She rolled over on her back and kicked her feet in the air. "Do you think Merlin needs a dress? I think he wants to be a ballerina."

"Viola," Barclay said slowly, "everyone knows that Merlin wanted to own a newspaper." He dotted the crown he was drawing with some rubies that were shaped suspiciously with hearts while Viola gave Merlin a laptop like Uncle Neville's. It was bigger than his head. "And anyway, I have a plan about Dad and your mum."

"Oo, tell me!" Viola squealed, tossing Merlin's portrait aside. She snuggled in real close and Barclay grinned.

"You promise not to tell?"

"I promise!"

Barclay looked about, then leaned close to her ear and whispered his plan, while Viola giggled away.

Ornella listened for a moment as she walked past the room, then she pulled the door to. It was about time someone did something about their parents. She imagined that coming from the children themselves, it would do more for the couple than any other therapy available. So, when the conspiring boy and girl approached her twenty minutes later, she gladly agreed to play along. She had no doubt that Hermione and Draco would see right through it, but that only added to the charm, really.

* * *


	63. Stardust Gets In Your Eye

**I do not own Harry Potter, blah blah blah. If I was making money off this, I think my contract would state "paid by the word." LOL. Alas, I am not and all these words are purely for your enjoyment. Also because I think too much.**

**AN: Enjoy! Slight filler. Ah, and to the magnanimous LadySol, thank you for thine review. Yeah, the kids are a bit precocious, but I find that it helps if you read their words with the voice of a child in mind. Makes it much more fitting. Kids are pretty amazing and articulate a great deal more than we give them credit for, so it's actually a real effort for me to not dumb them down too much. It might help some if I wrote in kidspeak (with the bad grammar and all), but I figure they attend one of those sassy, smart kid schools and so as long as you keep in mind what a six year old's voice sounds like, you'll be fine. Thanks! Happy reading!**

* * *

_Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within._

_-Tennyson_

* * *

"What? But I rented that one movie you've been begging to see, since your friend Ann-"

"Ann eats paste. I don't listen to her anymore."

Hermione frowned. "I thought Rebecca ate paste." Never mind what all these children at an expensive and prestigious day school were doing eating paste in the first place.

"Nope. Ann does. And anyway, we watched that at her birthday party last week."

"Oh. And it wasn't too scary for you?" Hermione questioned as Viola stared up at her with huge green eyes. She'd thought five was a bit young for _Stardust_, herself, but Viola was precocious.

Viola shook her head. In truth, she hadn't seen the film at all, but there was no need for Hermione to know that. Besides, she needed to go with Barclay if his plan was going to work. "Nope. So can I go?"

Hermione looked up at Ornella, who was smiling patiently, then back at her daughter. "Are you sure you want to go? Friday is always our night, isn't it? We stay up late and eat ice cream…"

"Pleeease, Mummy? Pretty, pretty please? Barclay's Grandmere never lets him have friends over when he visits on the week-ends, please? Please, Mummy?"

"Well…if you're sure she doesn't mind." Here Hermione looked back to Ornella. "Is it true? She gave special permission?"

"It's just because the Manor is so old and full of hidey-holes for children; that's why she rarely lets Barclay bring friends," Ornella said. "But that's why I'm going with them. Two sets of eyes are better than one."

"But why would she say Viola could-"

Ornella lowered her voice as Viola ran to her room and began tossing things about in an attempt to pack for her overnight. "The Manor does get lonely, you know, dear. I think Narcissa just wants to liven the place up a bit. Besides, she does like you and Viola, Hermione. And she knows how fond of the girl Barclay is, so…"

"So she's playing the indulgent grandmother."

"I hardly think she's playing at it, dear," Ornella murmured, smiling. Viola ran back out of her room with a small backpack that had a stocking hanging out of a zipper. Hermione raised her brows.

"All packed?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Uh-huh, I don't think so," Hermione replied. "Give me that." She took the bag and repacked it swiftly and neatly, then handed it back over. "Okay, now you have everything. You know what to do- be polite, behave, brush your teeth- got Won-Won?"

Viola held up the bunny by one ear and smiled. "Uh-huh!"

"Well, I guess that's it, then. If you get homesick, I'm just a floo away. I'll miss you, love," she said, squatting down to hug her daughter. Viola gave her a big hug in return and a wet kiss on the cheek.

"I love you, Mummy!"

"I love you too, darling. Have a nice time!" Hermione stood at the top of the stairs, waving good bye to her daughter, who was going to floo to the Manor from the ground floor. Hermione resisted the urge to go downstairs with them. After all, this was like a little taste of independence for Viola. It wasn't her first sleepover, by any means, but it would be the first without a mother _and_ father to come home to. It would be her first with Barclay, away from their new apartment. And it would be her first with Ornella and Narcissa watching over her. Hermione nearly bolted down the stairs at that thought, but she held back yet again, feeling rather proud of herself for all this self control. After all, she needed to give Narcissa a show of faith. The woman had really been quite lovely to her recently. Her kindness over the holidays especially had helped Hermione realize that the Manor was a different place, now. There was nothing left in Malfoy Manor that could harm anyone she knew and loved anymore, save old memories, and those were her own demons.

Still, she forced herself to go sit down in a chair, out of sight of the stairwell, where she gripped the arms tightly until she heard the voices recede; and the whoosh of sound from the floo below traveled through the chimney system and echoed from her own brick fireplace. It was only seven thirty on a Friday evening- she hadn't even realized it was one of Barclay's away weekends. Of course, Draco usually went with him on those visits, and he hadn't said anything in the last week about being gone this weekend, so that was why it must have slipped her mind.

Wait…if Ornella was going, along with Barclay and Draco, then that meant she was alone in the town home until Sunday evening. What in god's name was she going to do with herself for an entire weekend? She supposed she could call Ginny, make a girl's night out date…but Gin had been awfully busy lately, too. Or maybe she could go spend some time at the Burrow, or with her parents. No, she saw both parties all the time, anyway. Maybe a weekend by herself was exactly what she needed. She could relax, take some personal time…maybe even get a mani-pedi, if she felt like it.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she decided she liked the sound of it. A weekend to herself. No one about, all alone, all by herself…and two big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Crookshanks wandered out of the master bedroom, took one look at her face, and leapt onto her shrinking lap. He meowed up at her and she pet his head pathetically.

Merlin, she'd turned into the crazy, workaholic, pregnant cat lady. She was going to die alone.

Hermione felt a brief moment of hysteria bordering on panic at the thought before she reminded herself that not only was the statement contradictory; she'd already been married once, had all but three children now and that she was far from alone. Crazy, maybe. Pregnant, yes. Alone, no. Cat lady- well, that had been obvious for so many years there was no point in dwelling on it.

She looked down at Crookshanks, who placed a big orange paw on her stomach and meowed again.

"Well, what do you think? Want to have ice cream and a movie anyway? It's based on a Neil Gaiman novel. You like him, right?"

Crookshanks managed to turn about and find a comfortable spot on the shrinking lap before mewing his assent. The silent stare indicated he also agreed on the ice cream proposition. Hermione laughed and summoned everything to its proper place. Then she tucked the wool blanket in about her shoulders and settled down to a good, old-fashioned, comedy-fantasy-romance-adventure.

And tried to ignore the fact that she wished Viola, Harry, or even (especially) Draco were there to enjoy it with her. Which didn't work, of course. With a sigh she dug into the ice cream and resigned herself to a melancholy evening, at best.

* * *

Draco saw the trio off with some surprise. "Mother never said anything about-"

"Didn't she? I suppose Barclay was supposed to tell you and forgot. She can't have him next weekend, so she bumped it to this."

"And why can't she have him next weekend?"

"I don't know- something about remodeling, or traveling, or meetings- don't ask me, Draco, I'm not her secretary."

"Does Mother have a secretary?"

"Draco," Ornella said, as patiently as possible, "that is not the point. The point is that Barclay is going this weekend and Viola has been invited as well. Not going to put up a fuss, are you, dear?"

"Well- does Hermione say it's alright?"

"That is her daughter, helping your son pull on his galoshes, isn't it?"

"Yes…"

"Draco, it's fine."

He wrinkled his nose, not unlike his son had only a couple hours before, and raised a brow. "Well…I suppose so. Just let me get a bag together, myself-"

"It's alright, Draco. I'm going with them, Barclay's done this a few times already, Viola was there at Christmas- you don't have to worry. Narcissa didn't expect you'd be able to come on an off week. Please, just stay here, relax, don't worry about a thing. That's a dear. Alright, well, we'll be off now, if that all-"

"Ornella," Draco said. "Something is going on. What is Mother planning this weekend? A quidditch match? Large crowds at the zoo? Something she didn't want to get my permission for?"

"Draco, as much as I think your suspicion is warranted after the life you've led, you're being ridiculous. Now let the two grandmothers dote on their grandchild and his best friend, alright?"

It seemed Ornella would accept no argument he had and after another fifteen minutes of haggling, he saw the three of them off through the floo. Viola had even given him a hug and kiss and made him promise to keep her mother company.

"Mummy is lonely," she told him seriously. "Will you watch the movie with her for me?"

"Only if you're sure she wants company."

"I'm sure," she said, smiling and patting his cheek with slightly sticky fingers. Then she grabbed hold of Barclay's hand and the two of them waved one last time before disappearing from sight. He felt his heart swell a bit as he wiped his cheek with a handkerchief. Damn him, if he wasn't getting absurdly fond of the little thing. She was the most adorable little girl he'd ever met and a right bossy boots- except when she wanted to have her way with him. Then she was all sweetness and smiles, and he ate it right up. He suspected Harry had felt the same way.

They had that much in common- they were complete saps about little girls with curly hair.

With that thought, Draco looked at the time and called to Shackleton. He settled business in the downstairs and made sure the elf had brought Hermione everything she wanted before he started up the stairs himself, an ale in hand. Just because the pregnant witch shouldn't drink didn't mean he wasn't allowed to indulge. And if he was going to be comfortable spending the evening watching a muggle film with the witch of his dreams, he needed alcohol. Fire whiskey would have worked faster, but he didn't want to totally lose control. Not that he expected to lose control with Hermione, period.

He doubted that would even be possible, considering he had no idea what sort of film he'd let himself in for. The last time they'd watched one together, Viola and Barclay had been with them and it was some…animated, he believed was the word? Animated film about a mermaid who wanted to grow legs so she could marry a prince. Draco had thought the prince hadn't been anything special, but Viola had oohed and aahed. Even Hermione had gotten teary eyed.

Okay, so maybe he had too. Whatever.

* * *

Hermione jumped when she heard the stairs creaking. No one was supposed to be home, were they? So why were the stairs to her floor creaking? She tried to look over her shoulder, but the backs of her armchairs were so high she couldn't see around them. Her heart pounded and she put a hand on Crookshanks, who didn't seem at all alarmed. Or maybe he was sleeping. The opening credits for the film hadn't even started yet- she was letting it play through all the previews, just to eat up more of the evening.

"What in Merlin's name is that? Robots? What the hell is robot? From space? What sort of garbage have you been showing that sweet, impressionable-"

Hermione shrieked once, grappled for her pint of ice cream, and glared at Draco as he walked into view.

"Viola may be impressionable, but she's only sweet when she wants something. I have no illusions about my darling little girl, I'll have you know. Care to tell me what you're doing here?"

Draco was surprised for the second time that evening. Well, not surprised that she wasn't happy to see him, at least.

"The kids- Ornella took them. My mother has something big planned this weekend, I gather. Viola made me promise to watch the movie with you," he admitted, sitting in the chair beside her and taking a drink. "Need help?" he asked, motioning the bottle at her pint.

She flushed and gripped the container harder. "Not really, no."

"So you're going to eat the whole thing?"

"Clearly you've never seen a woman who eats normally."

Draco smiled. "I beg to differ. Pansy had quite an appetite, even when she wasn't pregnant. I wasn't making a dig at you. Just wanted to know what's expected of a friend you watch movies with."

"I expect them not to touch my ice cream," she said stiffly, then pushed play again. She spoke over the previews. "So you weren't aware Narcissa wanted Barclay over this weekend?"

"No, something last minute- or Barclay forgot to tell me. I don't really mind. Just leaves me a lot of extra time. Not sure what to do with myself, honestly."

"Yeah, me too," Hermione said. She glanced at Draco, whose profile was lit by the glare of the television screen. He looked somewhat uncomfortable. "We could watch something else, if you like."

"Oh, no, this is fine," he said, glancing at her as well. "What is it, again?"

"It's sort of an adventure story. Evil witches, unicorns, shooting stars. Know the type? Fantasy."

"But it's not animated?"

"No."

"So there's no singing."

"I don't think so." Hermione checked the DVD package. "No- just romance, comedy, sword fights."

"Good. I'm sorry, but I don't think I could stand one of those awful Disney princess stories again. I don't know why Barclay likes them so well."

"Oh, please. You loved _The Little Mermaid_."

Draco took another drink and ignored her. She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Fine. Well, we ought to both like this one."

"As long as it's not about robots from space."

"It's not about- you don't even know what a robot is, you idiot!" Hermione glared at him again only to find him looking at her, laughing silently. "Oh, just shush and watch the movie, will you?"

"If it ever gets past the previews-"

"Shush, here it is now-"

Crookshanks lifted his head and glared at the both of them before lying back down. He wished they'd get past the previews and shut up already, too. Kissing was the main event sooner or later and he'd rather they stopped fighting soon. They were going to scare all the mice away eventually if they kept it up much longer- then there would be the new babies making all sorts of racket- he mewed softly and Hermione pet him absentmindedly.

He'd never been a believer in telepathy, and humans were terrible at reading cats anyway, but perhaps he'd give it a try tonight. After all, if the kids had done their part, he may as well do his. He gave over to purring as the opening credits rolled. Personally, he thought what Malfoy needed to hear right about now was a rousing chorus of "Kiss the Girl." But perhaps _Stardust _would do just as well.

* * *

Ornella helped her wards get settled into their beds that night, a smile on her face the entire time. She knew the minute she closed the door they would be out of their beds and under the covers with a flashlight and storybooks, or toy brooms, or any other manner of play thing. Anything to keep from going to bed at a reasonable hour. Still, it was the weekend and both children were exceptionally bright- and the more tired they were in the morning, the less trouble it would be carting them about London like Narcissa planned.

If Narcissa really planned on carting them about. Somehow she doubted it, herself. The entire thing was just a ploy to get Draco and Hermione in the town home alone, uninterrupted. And apparently to embarrass Ornella to no end, as well. But Barclay had left that part out when he'd explained the plan earlier- no doubt because Narcissa had refrained from telling him the whole story. About how she'd asked Andromeda to come stay with her this weekend. That Narcissa- they'd been good friends when they were younger, and she'd clearly assumed that since they'd renewed their acquaintance now that it gave her the right to pick up where they'd left off, so to speak. Like setting up assignations for her sister. Not that it was meant to be an assignation- hell. Ornella frowned as she walked down the stairs and headed for the parlor again. Time to put on her game face.

Her insides had been a flutter from the moment they'd come out of the floo to find not only Narcissa, but Andromeda and Teddy as well. Teddy, who was being kept by his grandmother since Remus and Nymphadora were somewhere in Sweden at a facility for experimental treatment of werewolves. He was a few years older than Barclay and Viola, who took to him immediately. He'd actually taken over most of the baby-sitting duties for the last hour or so. A sweet boy, Ornella thought. Andromeda must be proud of him- not that Ornella had asked outright or anything. In fact, Narcissa seemed a bit disappointed by that. Here she'd gone to the trouble to meddle with her sister's and friend's lives and neither had done a damned thing besides smile and pass the tea.

They were old women, for Merlin's sake. Ornella hadn't talked to Andromeda directly in over twenty years. They were beyond friendship anymore, she feared. Hadn't her husband tried to kill Ted Tonks, once? What was wrong with Narcissa? If she'd known this was a weekend for a family visit, she should have warned Ornella ahead of time, or told Barclay that he'd have to enact his plan at a later date.

Ornella had her dignity, after all. Whatever she'd expected to happen this weekend, it had not included reunions with old friends. Still, she was a lady first and foremost. She pushed open the door of the parlor, ready to finally break the tense silence that had existed between the three women from the moment she and the children had arrived. She needed to apologize to Andromeda and tell Narcissa that she had no right- she stopped short.

Narcissa was no where in sight and only Andromeda sat in one of the chairs before the fire, sipping evening coffee. The cup stopped, halfway to her lips and the two women stared at one another. Ornella blinked, turned and fled.

Well. So much for dignity.

* * *

**AN: BUAHAHAHAHA. Cookie? :D**


	64. Gazing Back

**I do not own Harry Potter or make any money off this fic. It all belongs to J.K.**

**AN: A super short chapter, for what I normally write, but more is on the way soon, I promise. Perhaps even some Dramione fluff of the long awaited sort?**

* * *

_Everyone wants to be appreciated, so if you appreciate someone, don't keep it a secret._

_-Mary Kay Ash_

* * *

Andromeda went after Ornella and caught her at the stairs.

"Wait, Ornella, please. Come back. We…we ought to talk."

Ornella turned about and ran a hand through her grayed, bobbed hair. "Is there anything to talk about?"

Andromeda's face softened and she smiled. Her dark curls were salt and pepper now too and her face equally lined, but no less pretty.

"Of course there is. There's everything to talk about."

Ornella looked her straight in the face and finally nodded. "Alright. But I don't want to hear about how wonderful Ted was."

"Why not? I'd like to hear about Parkinson," Andromeda replied evenly.

Ornella sighed. It was going to be a long evening. She hoped Narcissa was prepared to take the children on by herself tomorrow.

* * *

"What do stars do best? They shine," said Claire Dane's character as she helped vanquish the last of the witches. A noisy sniffle came from Hermione's direction and Draco looked over at her. The pint of ice cream sat on the floor next to her chair and Crookshanks' head was buried in it. Draco hoped it wasn't a chocolate flavor. Hermione was crying and had a huge smile on her face despite the tears rolling down her cheeks.

Ok, so maybe Draco's eyes were a bit damp, too. But that had been a very stressful fight scene. He hadn't been sure the young couple was going to make it out alive, at first. Without another thought he reached a hand over and took Hermione's. She glanced at him and shrugged helplessly. They both laughed a little and looked back to the film, where the prince and star were getting married and living happily ever after.

Draco's heart swelled to about twice its size and he caught himself sighing. Hermione continued to sniffle.

"That was really…lovely," Draco murmured as the end credits finally rolled. "Got any others like that?"

"Uh, um," Hermione said as she carefully extracted her hand from his so she could search better. "That was particularly nice, wasn't it?"

"It was." Draco eyed her as she crawled out of her seat and began to search the cupboard where she kept her films. Her bum was presented in the air and he admired it a few moments.

"Ah ha," she said and turned about, waving a film. Then she looked at him suspiciously. "Were you just staring at my bum?"

"What? No, no-"

"You were. It's okay to say you were, you know. I'm getting tired of all this pretending."

"What pretending?"

"You know, where you act like you're not interested in being anything more than friends."

"Hermione," Draco began, covering his eyes, "I thought we agreed to take things slow."

"We have been taking things slow," she pointed out. "And okay, so maybe six months of grieving isn't traditional, but if this were Victorian England I'd be forced to wear black and not marry anyone else for five years."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not the one being ridiculous," she said, shaking the DVD at him.

"No? And what's so strange about wanting to-"

"Look, Draco, I don't want to argue about it anymore, but I will as long as you keep putting me off this way! You're the one who's pursued me all this time. I thought you loved me, wanted me- and now you're doing nothing but making excuses and practically ignoring me-"

And now her tears had nothing to do with her happiness from the film, moments before. He got to his knees and joined her on the carpet, taking the DVD from her hands and putting it aside so he could have both her hands in his. The ale had warmed his blood some and seeing her emotionally distraught was more than his well-intentioned resolve could bear.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. I don't know how to grieve properly. I know Harry and Pansy would want us both to be happy, to be able to move on, but I don't want to rush things for you. Harry, especially, was such a great man- how could any amount of time be enough to properly mourn that loss? You deserve-"

"I deserve to feel things how I want to," she replied, sniffling. "And I want to try this. I want to give us a chance. I'm ready to give us a chance. You're right- I know you're right. About Harry, I mean. No amount of time will ever be enough to give his memory, so why try? Then we'd be miserable and lonely until we died. Don't we both deserve more?"

"I know what you're trying to say, Hermione- don't you think I want to? Honor them by living? But it's been barely half a year, and you-"

"Is it because I'm pregnant? Because you don't want his children? Is that it?"

"Hermione, no- that's not it at all. Merlin-" He took her in his arms and held her close. "I swear to you, I will be a father to your children- to these children, even if you don't want me. I love them already, more than you know. How could I not love anything that was yours?"

"Then…"

Draco swore and held her tighter. How could he explain something that had been bothering him so long it was a permanent part of him now? How could he make her see that the problem wasn't that he didn't want her, it was that he didn't feel like he was any good to her now, outside of simple friendship? He shook his head against her shoulder and exhaled slowly. Well, it was clearly the night for confessions. And if she deserved any part of him, it was the honest half, the part that was the reason he couldn't let himself be with her, despite wanting her so desperately.

"I…it's me, Hermione. It's me. I- how could you ever love me again? I know, I know you forgave me, but how can that be enough? I was awful to you, even when I was in the middle of telling you how much I cared for you. I hit you, I stalked you, I made life hellish for you- I pushed your best friends away from you…how can I ever begin to make up for those things?" He took a shaky breath as he felt her go very still at his words. "When I was finally old enough to see how much of an idiot I'd been, I didn't blame you for choosing Harry. I was glad you'd done it, because you deserved so much more than me- you still do."

Hermione waited a heartbeat, then squirmed out of his grasp and looked him full in the face. "Draco Malfoy," she said slowly, "don't you think I should be the one to decide what I do and don't want, or deserve? And if you really want to make up for it, you can start _here_." And she grasped his shirt front and pulled him towards her. His lips met hers and he forgot every argument he'd had against this very thing occurring. In fact, he wondered why he'd ever doubted her. She had always been the brightest witch of her age, after all.

Crookshanks glanced up from his pistachio ice cream, whiskers covered in blobs of sugary dairy product, and stared at the scene. They'd made a small thunk as they'd toppled over to the floor, arms about one another, lips meeting firmly and frantically. That was what had caught his attention. Before, they'd been fighting. Now they were waging war of a different sort. He decided it was time to leave discreetly and go search for mice.

He left the pair behind him, Draco holding himself over Hermione carefully as she lay on her back, her arms about his neck, the other movie lying beside them, quite forgotten.

Maybe there would be time for _The Princess Bride _later.

* * *

Barclay flicked on the flashlight and shone it across at Viola, who blinked in its light and giggled.

"Is your plan working?"

"I dunno." Barclay flicked the light off, then on again. "We have to wait until Sunday to find out."

"Oh. What about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? I think we're going out with Grandmère. She said she might take us to the zoo."

"I've been to the zoo before," Viola said proudly and Barclay flashed the light over her again.

"I have, too. I like the monkeys."

"I like the snakes."

Barclay wrinkled his brow. "Snakes?"

"Sssss," said Viola, still giggling. She slithered out of her bed and popped up next to his, arms extended over her head, fingers crooked like fangs.

Barclay squealed and dropped the light, then dove under the covers. A moment later Viola joined him, looking penitent.

"I'm sorry for scaring you."

"You didn't scare me," Barclay replied, his voice muffled by the pillow over his head.

"Barclay…" Viola said softly, poking him with a toe. "Barclay…"

"What?" he grumbled, finally peeking at her from around the pillow.

"Do you think we'll always, um, be together now? After your plan works?"

He looked at her thoughtfully and felt his cheeks flush. "I dunno. Maybe our parents will," he added.

"So we will, too," she supplied, poking him again.

"If you want," Barclay replied, rocking back and forth a little.

"Of course," she said, settling in beside him and switching out the light one last time. "You're my best friend ever."

Barclay lay down beside her slowly. He'd known she was his best friend for a while now, but it was quite different to hear her say it out loud. It sort of changed everything, didn't it? On the other hand, he thought as he heard her breathing even out into sleep, maybe nothing at all had changed.

Except now they could always be together. As long as his plan worked.

* * *

**AN: Awwww. :)**


	65. Shine, Or, It Is About Effing Time

**Don't own Harry Potter ever, it all belongs to other important parties.**

**AN: Another slightly short one, but I hope it delivers. Feel free to set me straight if it doesn't. **

* * *

_You were made perfectly to be loved - and surely I have loved you, in the idea of you, my whole life long._

_-Elizabeth Barrett Browning_

* * *

Draco's lips were soft and dry and they felt as they had almost every other time she'd kissed him- firm, demanding. Loving. She opened herself up to him willingly. It was time to exorcise the last of her ghosts. She'd married a man, loved him with all her heart, and lost him. And now she had the chance to love with all her heart before her once again, and she wasn't about to let him go.

Despite the fact that her belly was determined to get in the way. Draco shifted over her and propped himself up to one side of her, his access to her lips unhindered. His free hand slid from her shoulder to her breasts, then down to her stomach and rested there. He could feel himself becoming aroused and growled deep in his throat. Merlin, what was wrong with him? The kids weren't even his…but he'd meant what he said, earlier. He loved them already. He loved her and everything that was hers, Potter or not. And pregnant Hermione was incredibly sexy. Merlin, hadn't he discovered that five years ago, when she'd been pregnant with Viola? It was why he'd stared at her so much. Not only because he was jealous it was Potter's kid, but also because she'd glowed so well- shone, really.

_What do stars do best?_ He smiled against her lips and pulled away a bit, half expecting to see her glowing now, like the girl in the film. She sort of was, bathed in the light from the television and moonlight filtering through the window. She smiled up at him before pulling him back down.

"Hermione…" he groaned and drew back again.

"What is it?" she whispered, seeing the indecision on his face.

"I…I love you, but I'm not going to have sex with you right now. And it certainly isn't going to happen on your living room floor. We're not teenagers anymore. You deserve better than that- don't argue," he said, kissing her again gently. "At least let me take you to a proper bed."

She felt hot all over and knew that even in the dim light the blush in her cheeks had to be obvious. She nodded after a long second.

"Okay."

Draco got up slowly, pulling her to her feet after him and then scooping her up in his arms. She smiled shyly and he kissed her again while he walked her into her room. Laying her down on the bed slowly, he got in beside her and tucked her in against him. She pulled his head back down to hers and they kissed languidly. The heat she felt all over seemed to transfer to his skin and she panted lightly as his hands explored her sweetly; touching her in places they hadn't traveled in over a decade. A decade was far too long for him not to touch her, she decided. But when her own hands slipped beneath his shirt and tugged at the waist band of his slacks, his stilled.

"Hermione…"

"I want you," she whispered in the dark. His lips found her forehead. They were shaking.

"I want you," he affirmed. "But I won't do this now. Later, when you don't have these little ones to worry about. I read the material, love," he murmured. "You're high-risk. I won't take any chances."

"So you'll just leave me hanging here," she said, pouting.

"You think this is easy for me?" he replied, holding her close. "But we've waited so long already. What's another three months?" He took a deep breath. "Hermione…"

"Yes?"

He buried his nose in her hair and took a deep breath. Merlin, she always smelled so good to him. She loved him, he loved her…they didn't need to shag in order to know that. And they had been waiting a long time, already. Too long. It had to be now. As much as he'd loved Pansy, would always love her…Hermione was it, for him.

"Marry me."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat and she gripped his arms. Merlin, he meant it. Every word. About waiting, about wanting the best for her, about her deserving so much out of life- she felt the tears slip down her cheeks and she battled with her self-control not to jump him right there. She never thought she'd be so turned on by an admission of love and desire. Harry had been wonderful, she had loved him truly, deeply, but this was different. Draco was different. Draco was the fire she would never quite tame, because she hadn't been the one to change him. Because he had made his own way in life. What they felt for one another now was not the desire to love and marry because they _needed_ one another, but because they _wanted _one another. She and Harry had always needed one another- they'd wanted each other, too, but they had needed each other more.

If anything, Draco was the last thing she'd ever needed…but Merlin, she wanted him. The heat in her cheeks spiraled out into her extremities, setting her fingers tingling and she stroked his cheek gently. He held his breath, waiting for an answer.

"I forgot what it felt like to be with you, Draco," she murmured.

He held her a little more tightly and buried his face in her hair again. "Did you forget, or did you just choose not to remember?" he asked softly. She pushed him away and looked at him sadly.

"The outcome was the same, either way. I'm sorry for hurting you-"

He shook his head and put a finger over her lips, causing her to frown at him. He removed it just as quickly. "I was the one who hurt you, wasn't I? You wanted so much for me to be the man then that I am today and I couldn't do it, but I kept after you anyway…I'm not sorry for seducing you then, but I am sorry for the way it ended. I should never have hit you, or pushed you away when all you wanted was to offer friendship and love."

Hermione scooted forward on the bed, back into his arms. She rested her forehead against his chest and they took several shaky breaths together.

"I'm still offering it, Draco," she whispered. "I couldn't when Harry was alive- I loved you both too much. But my heart doesn't have to be divided anymore." _If it was ever truly divided,_ she thought.

He gave a strange laugh. "So I win by default."

She burrowed closer to him and put her arms about him. "It does sound awful, doesn't it?"

She felt him shake his head and then put his arms around her, holding her as closely as he had all those years ago. As if he never wanted to let go. "No. It sounds right. I knew then that Potter would win, but it didn't stop me from hoping. There must be a reason I've kept loving you all these years. Oh, Hermione," he said softly, "I would love you whether your heart was whole or not. That never mattered to me. Just that some small part of you loves _me _is enough."

There was a long silence as Hermione thought about this. She knew what Draco meant, but he also deserved to know that she had truly cared for him that time; had wanted things to work. She told him so.

"I loved you then. I did, Draco. And I tried so hard to make things work, in my mind, at least. I was always dreaming of ways that it could be real, for us, but…"

"But I went and ruined it all."

She sighed. "Maybe. I didn't help things much, though. I was so confused. Chasing after you-"

"Only because you wanted to see me be my best. I can't fault you for that. But you…you really wanted it?"

"Wanting it was never the problem," she admitted. "I tried so hard. But then, after we had that last talk…there was a moment when it all changed for me. When the fantasy I was believing in, about us, collapsed. The world I'd been believing in so desperately until then, the dream where we made it all work out, no matter what, was destroyed in that moment. I couldn't live with the lies anymore. I didn't want to live with them anymore."

"So you chose Harry," he said and she started to pull away, to protest. He caught her to him again. "No, I'm not censuring you, your decision. He's a good man. He was a good man. He was the right choice, back then. If I'd been in your shoes, I'm sure I'd have done the same thing. And he loved you, Hermione. I knew what I was battling back then- I knew it the minute his fist connected with my jaw, on the slopes outside Hogsmeade. And I welcomed it," he added. "I wanted that confrontation, to release the pent up energy. We'd been itching to batter one another senseless for years, so to have him doing it to me, after you'd already confessed you were in love with me-"

She let out a strangled noise and gripped his shirt front tighter. "Stop," she begged quietly. "I don't care about that anymore- I don't want to be reminded- it's one of many things better left-"

He lifted a hand to her head and held her close as he felt her hot tears wet his chest. He wondered briefly if she was wearing mascara, if it would stain the front of his shirt. If he'd always have a reminder, then, of this moment- the one where they came back to one another.

"So many forgotten things, it seems," he mused. Then he looked down into her face. "I'm not sorry. That it's happening now, instead of then, I mean."

"No?" she replied softly.

"No. Because now you've come back, knowing everything I am and everything I've done, and you still want it. You still want me. You've forgiven me and seen we still have something- something deeper than it could ever have been, back then."

She smiled up at him and lifted a hand, brushing her fingers along his high, graceful cheekbones tenderly. Time had changed him, aged him, but those features were essentially the same; if only marred by a wrinkle here and there. The silvery glint in his eyes had not gone; and the unreadable, mocking curve of his lips remained…but now she saw beyond it and it held no more mysteries for her.

"I'm still in love with you," she whispered, and his heart began to race beneath the palm she rested on his chest. "And…if I am sorry for anything, it's for how much this hurts."

"To love two people at once?" he said and she nodded.

"How did you-"

"Love, I've been at it for twelve years now. There's nothing you could say to me that would surprise me."

"Oh." She looked down again and laid her head against his chest. She'd stopped crying and her breathing was calm and even. It was his heart that still raced, now.

He seriously doubted it would ever stop. How could it, when he was holding in his arms all he'd ever wanted, for a long time? They were quiet for a few minutes and he finally roused himself again.

"You never answered-"

"Yes," she interrupted him.

"You mean it?"

"Yes."

* * *

**AN: FINALLY. GOSHDARNIT. And no, they did not have sex. I'm not sure if they ever will before this blamed thing is finished. Here's hoping. I know it might seem a bit strange to put all that in there, but I hope you all followed my logic.**


	66. Confessions

**AN: So very sorry for the delay in posting. As I said before, we're nearing the end of our story, but I do have a lot of crap going on. Still, if I don't get this thing done before January, please feel free to kick my arse. Love you all and thank you for your continuing patience.**

* * *

_Live with a guy for at least a year before you consider marrying him. _

_Otherwise you'll find yourself splitting wood and wondering how much force it takes to split a human skull._

_- Grandma's advice on marriage_

* * *

Andromeda pulled away from the kiss and held Ornella by the shoulders.

"What on earth did you have to go and do that for?" Ornella asked, voice irritable, but eyes bright.

"I had to know if you still felt the same," Andromeda replied.

"And do you know?"

"I think so," said the other witch. Ornella smiled ruefully.

"We've wasted an awful lot of time."

"I hardly call raising beautiful children and avoiding death a waste of our time. Besides, it's better this way, somehow."

"Is it?" Ornella asked again. She'd always been the one full of questions, despite how certain she'd been of her feelings.

"Oh yes," Andromeda replied, leaning in once again. "I know so."

Unfortunately, Draco and Hermione arrived through the parlor floo at that moment and a strangled cry of surprise echoed throughout the downstairs of the mansion.

* * *

Draco looked from his aunt to his mother-in-law and back again. He was trying hard not to let the shock show on his face, but he was afraid he was doing a rather poor job of it. It had to be obvious to anyone that he'd never expected this. In fact, he'd thought Ornella's former paramour might have been his own mother. He blurted out his thoughts before he could stop himself and felt Hermione tighten her grip on his arm.

Hermione. Right. They'd flooed over to Malfoy Manor despite being desperately tired (and desperately randy) in order to tell everyone the good news. A phone call to her parents and a visit to Ginny and Neville had been in order next. But he rather thought that discovering Andromeda and Ornella in a compromising position trumped announcing his recent engagement.

Because he was engaged to Hermione Granger-Potter. That hadn't been a dream, had it? He looked down at the very pregnant witch at his side and smiled down at her hopefully. She returned his smile and then frowned.

"Draco, whatever is going on between them really isn't any of our business-"

"No, oh no. I know that. I'm just in shock, I think. I'd thought my mother was actually the one-"

Ornella put her head in her hands, but Andromeda simply laughed. "Narcissa? And Ornella? Please, Draco. Narcissa and this one make about as much sense as she and your father did- though she did love him, I'll give her that much."

"I'd offer to explain, but this is a surprise to me, too, Draco," Ornella mumbled through her fingers.

"Please," Draco said quickly, "you don't have to explain anything. I- you know, I think I need to sit down."

Hermione rolled her eyes and helped him onto the settee, sitting herself beside him as they looked at the older witches expectantly.

"Oh, hell," said Ornella. Andromeda rolled her eyes in much the same fashion as Hermione and patted the woman's arm.

"It's not so bad, is it? No more hiding- in fact, I really do wonder why you didn't look me up sooner, Ornella."

"Me? The floo goes both ways, Andy. Besides, my husband tried very hard to kill yours once upon a time. I didn't think I'd be very welcome."

"If what we just saw wasn't very welcoming, I shudder to think-" began Draco, but Hermione smacked his arm.

"Shut up, Draco. Please, I'm terribly confused," Hermione said, turning to their companions. "This isn't a new development, then?"

Narcissa chose that moment to enter the parlor. She smiled at the cozy scene, ignoring the disgruntled looks on more than one face and took a seat, herself. "Tea, anyone?" she said.

"Oh, yes, please," replied Hermione. Draco rolled his eyes that time.

"Certainly," said Narcissa. She looked over at Andromeda and Ornella sternly as she poured. "Now don't let these two fool you. They've been madly in love with one another for a very long time."

"Narcissa!" exclaimed Ornella.

"Oh, let her tell the story if she wants, Nell," Andromeda said. "She always did think she was the great orchestrator anyway."

Narcissa looked miffed. "If it wasn't for me," she said conspiratorially, "these two never would have spoken to one another."

"That is true, I suppose," said Ornella. "Narcissa and I were in the same year and Andy was a year ahead of us. If Narcissa hadn't been my partner through most of Potions and I hadn't had to do all her work-"

"Now, Ornella. Let's not dwell in the past."

Hermione giggled and Draco looked at her askew before turning back to the other witches.

"So, what happened, exactly?"

"Narcissa wouldn't do her share of the work properly, which I of course found out about," Andromeda went on. "So I sought out Ornella and offered to help in my spare time. And that was that."

"So you actually dated one another?"

"More like hid in broom closets," said Ornella. "That was all we could do back then. We could spend time together- innocent time, doing homework, talking about classes…but anything more and we had to hide."

"That doesn't sound entirely unfamiliar," Hermione whispered and squeezed Draco's hand.

He glanced down at her, his eyes full of tenderness. "I'm sorry I put you through that."

"That's all over with," she replied, looking up at him. She squeezed his hand again.

All three older witches raised their brows at the same time and glanced at one another.

"Oh ho," said Andy. "What's this? Did you two do some sneaking about of your own?"

"That's one way of putting it. Please, we want to hear about you, though," Hermione insisted.

"Well, Andy was going to get out a year before me, of course. She wanted to leave the wizarding world altogether, she was getting so tired of the rising Death Eaters…"

"I asked Ornella to come with me, leave school as well."

"But I was my parents' only child. I knew if I left that they would mount a search. We'd never be safe. And then there was the matter of my betrothal. It wasn't that I wanted those things, I didn't- but Andy would have been in danger, and because of me. I couldn't bear that. She'd already begun making waves because of her sympathetic leanings."

Andromeda reached over and held Ornella's hand tightly. "So she broke up with me. Told me she was going to stay and marry Parkinson. Broke my bloody heart."

"As if my own heart wasn't broken," Ornella supplied softly.

"I know, love," Andromeda said. She looked back up at the others. "And then Ted came along. Said he knew about me and Nell. Offered to help us escape, told me about some sort of order that was forming that could protect us. I went back to Nell, but it was too late by then. And Ted was so kind…he told me the offer still stood, for myself. So I took it. He helped me pick up the pieces."

Narcissa surreptitiously wiped her cheeks. "Left me to deal with Ornella on my own."

"I wasn't that bad-" Ornella began, then stopped and gave a sad laugh. "Okay, I was in terrible shape our seventh year. Narcissa became my best friend."

"Is that why…the flowers?" Draco asked.

"She helped me through that entire year without complaint, believe it or not. I know you think your mother is the most selfish creature in the world…and we did drift apart, but she was an angel that year. And being close to her reminded me of Andy."

"What about the pansies?"

Narcissa smiled softly. "They've always been my favorites. And Ornella and I were still very good friends the year her daughter was born."

The five of them went quiet for a few seconds, with only the crackle of the fire making a sound. Draco finally spoke up again.

"What happens now?"

Andromeda and Ornella exchanged a long glance. "We're going to take it one day at a time, I think. There's more healing to be done, after all these years."

"But how we feel hasn't really changed," Andromeda said gently. She looked hard at Hermione and Draco. "And you two? What brought you here tonight?"

Draco shook himself and glanced at Hermione, who was smiling shyly. He opened his mouth, closed it, looked at everyone.

"We're engaged," he finally said, sounding very much like he wasn't sure he believed it.

The three older witches dissolved into varying stages of joy and shock.

Ornella was the first to speak a full sentence. "So their plan worked."

"What plan?" Hermione asked.

Narcissa smiled broadly. "Those delightful children put their heads together and conspired to leave you two alone tonight."

"I knew something fishy was going on-" Hermione began, but Draco shushed her with a finger over her lips.

"Is there a point in being upset with them?"

She smirked and moved his hand. "I guess not. But you realize what this means."

"What?"

Andromeda snorted. "If they're plotting this way at five and six, what sort of trouble will they be getting into at fifteen and sixteen, after ten years of practice?"

Draco and Hermione exchanged a long, horrified glance. There was no way their children could attend boarding school together.

"Durmstrang," said Draco.

"Beauxbatons," said Hermione.

Then they dissolved into laughter, while the other women continued to congratulate them and plan.

None of them noticed the little faces peering into the open parlor doors from their perch on the stairs.

Barclay turned to Viola and grinned. "It worked."

"They're getting married?"

Barclay nodded and Viola took his hand. "I'm glad."

His face went red, but he didn't shake his hand free of hers.

"Me too," he whispered.

The little girl snuggled closer to him and they watched the happy scene before them for a few more seconds; then they rose to their feet. Barclay tugged on Viola's hand and she followed him back up the stairs reluctantly, straining to see inside the parlor until it was fully out of sight. Then she hopped up the last few stairs and joined Barclay. The two of them skipped the rest of the way down the hall and back to their room, their beds, and sweet, sweet dreams.

* * *

**AN: Awwww. **


	67. No Longer Impossible

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or make any money off this fiction. It all belongs to J.K.**

**AN: Whew! Short, but it's a chapter we've been waiting for a very long time. It won't be long now, people. I think- I think- that I have one chapter left, then an epilogue, followed by a bonus "Draco and Hermione make sweet, sweet love" episode for all my patient readers.**

* * *

_I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, in life after life, in age after age forever._

_-Rabindranath Tagore_

* * *

"Mummy, why can't we have it in a big church? With lots of flowers and music-"

Hermione sighed and knelt down so she could tie the green bow on the back of her daughter's brand new, crisply pink dress. Her own dress was a simple A-line affair with a sweetheart neckline and pale peach in color. She'd already had the conversation with Viola about the color of her dress five times and the argument about where the ceremony was being held had happened at least ten. Hermione was getting tired of it, needless to say. But she patiently tied Viola's bow and looked her in the eye as she spoke.

"Neither Draco nor I want a large wedding, sweetheart. We both already had those- well, I did. And I didn't want to do it again. We don't have to have a large ceremony to show each other that we love each other and are a family, do we?"

"No," Viola whined. "But what about-"

"Now, sweetie, you have flowers. And Barclay has the rings. And all our best friends will be there, right?"

"Right."

"So, here's what I want you to do. When you are older, and you find the man you want to marry, and you make all your plans…I want you to promise me that you will make it the biggest, best wedding you want. However you want. Displays like that are perfectly suitable for some people, and especially you, when you get married to that special someone, okay? But Draco and I…we've had big and flashy our whole lives and we're tired now. We want small and quiet. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mummy," Viola answered, though her lower lip stuck out slightly. Hermione smiled and gave her a huge hug.

"Remember, the party afterwards is going to be very big. Next weekend."

Viola brightened up.

"And," Hermione added, "When your Uncle George and Melusine get married, the ceremony is going to be quite big. I believe they're even going to have it in the great rotunda at work."

Viola's eyes got very big. "At the ministry?"

"That's right. And don't forget they've asked you to be flower girl."

Viola let out a shriek of excitement and immediately did several rounds about the upstairs apartment. Five minutes later Hermione was retying the bow yet again when her mother stepped out of the nursery, holding a twin in either arm. Hermione looked up at her and her eyes filled with tears at the memory of their birth, just six short months ago. (Had it really been half a year already?)

It had been a hard labor, and though her mother had been by her side the entire time, she'd wished only for Harry. For him to see their beautiful children, to know that she'd come through it alright, to feel the way her heart beat hard and painfully in her chest at the knowledge these babies would never see their father…

And then it had finally been over and a tiny bundle had been placed in either of her arms and her heart had suddenly been whole again. To see the way those little tufts of hair- one black, one brown- nuzzled their way towards her…she'd never been so happy in the last year since the tragedy, except maybe with her daughter, and maybe one other person.

Then the doors had opened and her mother had stepped away after giving her a gentle hug and that other person had been there. Draco's face was pale and he looked anxious and concerned, but the moment he saw how radiantly she was beaming, his whole face had relaxed. He'd looked as proud as she imagined Harry would have and she'd begun crying, suddenly, and so had he, even as he'd gently laid a hand on either bundle.

"I swear to you," he'd said softly, "that they will never be without a father, Hermione. They're beautiful. You're beautiful. And I love you all."

She'd only cried harder at that, but he'd taken it all in stride and there was a picture, now sitting on the mantel in her bedroom, of that day in the hospital. It showed Hermione sitting in the hospital bed, alternately crying and smiling, with Draco leaning over her, proud and excited, his arms about hers as they held the twins; and Viola and Barclay on the other side of the bed, standing on tiptoe to try and see the babies, their grinning faces full of delight and wonder. That picture sat next to the one Ginny had given her only the night before, of those two strips of photos from the carnival sixth year, framed side by side. And next to that frame stood one which held her, Viola and Barclay, her and Draco, and the old prized picture of her, Ron and Harry all together in front of Hogwarts.

She blinked away her new tears and stood up to take one of the babies from her mother. Her life had come full circle, it felt like, and she couldn't be happier.

"Why are you crying, darling?" her mother asked anxiously.

Hermione cooed down at little Harry James Potter (better known as Jamie) and bounced him gently. She glanced back up at her mother.

"I'm not sure. I feel so much right now, Mum. It's hard to tell whether I'm happy or sad or…"

"Amazed, is more like it," her mother murmured, smiling down at the tiny girl in her own arms, one Hero Gabriella Potter. "And no wonder. You've survived a terrible thing, Hermione. And been blessed twice over for it."

"I know," Hermione whispered.

"And your father and I are quite pleased, you know. He's a good man. Not great, like Harry, but good. Different. I think Harry would be very pleased to see this happening, in fact." She smiled wryly. "I know it's trite, but it's true. And the love you feel for one another _is_ great. It's survived the test of time already. And that is something to be overjoyed about." Her mother reached out a hand and gripped one of Hermione's tightly.

"Now come on. Let's get you where you need to be."

* * *

Even though the ceremony was to be small and private- performed in the minister's offices by Melusine herself- Draco had insisted on one thing and that was the limousines. The beautiful older models he had hired were lined up and down the block outside the town home, waiting to carry the entire party to their destination. Draco, his son, his best man- George, along with his mother, aunt and Ornella. Molly and Arthur were in a car with Fred, Percy, the Lupins and their son (Neither Bill and his family nor Charlie could get away from work, which was fine with Hermione and Draco, since their _small_ ceremony already counted over twenty people.) Another car held the Longbottoms and Shackleton, who along with Smith had offered to nanny. And then there was the bride's car, with Hermione, her parents and her children.

Once they'd all bundled into the cars and reached the ministry, where they bumbled out of the cars, Hermione's nerves had resolved themselves into a fluttering in her stomach. After the ceremony was over, She and Draco were leaving their children in the capable hands of their grandparents and going off for a couple of days. It wasn't exactly in order to have sex, because Merlin knew they'd certainly done that already. Once the twins had been born Hermione had given Draco exactly one month to recover from the shock of having two newborns in the house before she'd tackled him in his study one night. But everyone had insisted they take a couple of days- some sort of honeymoon was better than nothing, someone had said- and so they were. They hadn't told anyone where they were going, though and even Hermione wasn't one hundred percent sure she wanted to go through with it. Wedding? Yes. Honeymoon? Not so much. She didn't want to be away from her babies- any of them- for so long, but Draco had been so sweet when he'd suggested the place…

Her mother took her arm, pulling her out of her reverie and she looked over at her, smiling. "Ready?" Mrs. Granger asked.

Hermione nodded and put her arms about her mother's neck. The other woman smiled softly and hugged her daughter tightly. There were all sorts of platitudes she could have said, about love being stronger the second time around, about how time heals all wounds…but she knew her daughter already knew them. Instead, she stood back and handed Hermione her bouquet- pansies and violets- and then opened the door for her. Hermione walked into the small alcove where she gave her mother one more kiss, then watched her go to her seat. She glanced over at her father, who held out his arm and she took it with a smile. Viola- who held a bouquet of narcissi and one flowering bough of ash, that dropped tiny white petals everywhere Viola walked- was behind Ginny (along with Crookshanks- how had he gotten there), standing to one side of Melusine's desk. Melusine had cleared the magnificent working space for the sake of today and it made Hermione smile, knowing it would be covered again not two minutes after the ceremony was over. Barclay stood behind his father and George on the other side and both men looked resplendent in their charcoal grey dress robes. Only a pale green bowtie that matched Viola's ribbon marred the images and Hermione couldn't help grinning. The matching ties had been Narcissa's idea and Draco hadn't been able to say no, now that he'd patched up his relationship with his mother.

As she started forward down the very short aisle trumpets suddenly blared and she recognized the fanfare from _The Little Mermaid_. She stifled a snort and shot a glance in Fred's direction, but the twin was smiling beatifically. In a few short steps the trumpets stopped and Mr. Granger gave his daughter away for the second time.

Melusine eyed all gathered parties appreciatively and Hermione thought she detected a glint of tears there before the older woman blinked them away and beamed as she read out the words.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered her today, in the sight of all living, magical creatures and beings to witness the loving promise of these two- one witch, one wizard- who desire to be joined together in life and death through the sacred bonds of matrimony…"

Hermione felt Draco's fingers tighten about hers and she looked up at him almost shyly. His eyes were fixed on Melusine as she continued to speak, but he spared one glance for her and when their eyes met, she knew she would be with this man and love him the rest of her days. After all, she was pretty certain that sh had already loved him her entire life, as he had loved her, for his.

And so, surrounded by their closest friends and family, Draco Malfoy finally married Hermione Granger-Potter, quietly and without much fanfare, but with all the love they would ever bear for one another, and only the possible ahead of them.


	68. Peace, Love, and

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or make profit from this fic. All rights to J.K.**

**AN: Here it is, final chapter. Epilogue is next, along with my message for all my dear and patient friends. Everything feels somehow…anticlimactic.**

* * *

_To fall in love is easy, even to remain in it is not difficult; our human loneliness is cause enough. But it is a hard quest worth making to find a comrade through whose steady presence one becomes steadily the person one desires to be._

_-Anna Louise Strong_

* * *

Hermione held open the door of the flat and watched Draco drag the boxes past her, only to set them just inside the door.

"Is that the last of them?" she asked hopefully and he nodded and smiled at her as he wiped his brow.

"Tell me why you chose to live in a muggle complex, again?" he asked as she closed the door and he could finally, safely levitate the boxes down the hall to the living room.

She rolled her eyes and monitored his movement as he began opening the boxes. "Harry and I preferred it. We liked a lot of our so-called muggle heritage and it was easier to move into an apartment that already had those amenities than to retro-fit a magical flat." She gave a small gasp and dashed forward. "Here, let me do that!" She caught the flat screen monitor just as Draco tumbled it from its box and he cringed.

"Sorry. I know a lot more than I ever did, but sometimes I forget these things don't come with magical safeguards."

Hermione smiled up at him and her eyes softened. "I know, darling. I'm not upset."

Draco smiled back at her for a moment, but Hermione didn't miss the predatory gleam that entered his eye and she hastily set the monitor down before turning to the other boxes. She tried to busy herself opening them, but Draco had her about the waist and swung her around to meet his lips before she could even let out a startled yelp.

The last three days after the ceremony had been a whirlwind of packing, cleaning and then unpacking as the two of them had single-handedly converted her and Harry's old flat into the new offices of the Harry Potter Foundation. Hermione had to admit, she'd been suspicious of Draco's intentions when he'd first suggested they spend the honeymoon everyone was forcing them on at the flat. But then he'd presented her with the outline of a plan for offices, along with paperwork for a non-profit foundation in Harry's name- just like she and Ginny had envisioned after auctioning off some of his items- and her heart had melted. It was the best wedding present he could have possibly given her and she had been more than happy to reassure him of that fact over the last few days. Draco had already gotten a board of trustees for the foundation- culled from their own Hogwarts class- and the paperwork had been signed off a full week before he presented it to Hermione.

Needless to say, that level of devotion had merited a few displays of affection and as Draco whimpered beneath Hermione's assault of his neck yet again, she couldn't help smiling.

"Did I ever tell you I want about ten children?" Hermione murmured in between nibbling his ear and tearing at the buttons on his shirt.

"Ten?" he asked in a strangled voice. "Hermione, you- the twins-"

"Are you trying to talk, darling?" she asked sweetly as she pulled at the buttons on his pants that time. He groaned.

"You're a monster," he gasped and his fingers finally found the buttons on her own shirt. "Be careful of the equipment- shouldn't we be setting things up more?"

Hermione took his face between her hands and kissed him soundly. Their lips molded perfectly to one another and it was her turn to whimper as his tongue slipped into her mouth, warm and wet and a terror for her senses. She opened her mouth wider and latched her arms about his neck as he hoisted her up at the waist and set her firmly on the bar between the kitchen and living room. He didn't let up his assault on her mouth even as his fingers dipped into her bra, sliding along the sides of her still tender breasts; and she moaned and wriggled forward on the counter until she could wrap her legs about his hips.

He broke away and smiled at her lazily, passion turning his eyes a stormy grey. "You realize we're going to have to clean this entire place again before we leave?"

"We'll hire people who don't know us," she responded, leaning forward to kiss his jaw softly while one hand played down between them. "They'll never suspect what happened here."

He sighed and slid his hands under the clasp of her bra, releasing her breasts and cupping them lightly as her undergarment fell away, along with her shirt.

"Won't they? I'm pretty sure anyone who looks at us together knows I can't keep my hands off of you."

She pressed against him, using her legs to leverage him forward into her hips. His eyes fluttered closed and she laughed softly.

"I think it might be the other way round, Draco, darling," she murmured and he groaned again before pressing his lips to hers once more, their tongues slipping against one another as she continued to tug insistently on the front of his pants.

"Wouldn't you at least like to use the bed this time?" he said between kisses and he felt her shake her head. He couldn't help laughing and she took the opportunity while he was distracted to finally send his pants tumbling about his feet. He gasped as the cool air hit his legs and while Hermione was assaulting his neck again he reached for his wand and sent all their clothes flying. It was Hermione's turn to shriek and Draco quickly used her surprise against her by stepping back and swinging her up into his arms.

She shrieked again and looked up at his grinning face only to find him gazing down at her seriously. His hair had fallen across his eyes, giving him the boyish look she'd loved once upon a time and only the added wrinkles about his eyes and mouth gave away the passage of time. Impulsively, she craned her head up and met his lips in a gentle kiss.

"I love you," she whispered and he kissed her in return.

"And I love you. And I'm going to love you for a long, long time."

"You already have," she replied, her eyes misting over. He laid her out on their clothes gently, as if they were in a suite at the Ritz and not on the floor of the flat she used to live in with her first husband and daughter. Every move he made with her, in fact, was deliberate and desiring. He never looked at her as anything other than the most precious thing he'd ever held, save perhaps their children. It filled her with an answering call, deep in her heart and body and she couldn't help touching him every time they were in the same space together. A brush of their fingers, a glance, a hand on the shoulder…they came together perfectly in love and passion and- as cliché as it sounded, even to her own ears- understanding. There were so many years behind them that they couldn't help but know one another intimately and it only strengthened their present relationship.

Once Hermione had learned to let go of the past, she'd fallen into his arms without any intention of ever letting _him_ go. And Draco…he'd never let her go in the first place.

He poised himself over her now, hesitating, as he always did, as if he couldn't quite believe they'd finally made it here- their skin flushed and gliding against each other, guided by instinct and emotion. He kissed her again, sweetly and she curled her fingers about his neck, letting her lips linger along his jaw as he entered her slowly, the rush from before replaced by a slow burning.

Draco grit his teeth as she whimpered- she always whimpered and it both drove him wild and filled him with an intense guilt- and covered her lips with his again and again. She rocked her hips beneath his and he moaned into her mouth. The sensations were too much- they always were. Her hot core pulsing about him, desiring him, pulling him deeper into her with every stroke- he groaned and pulled away. Her eyes fluttered open and she stared up at him.

"You've got to stop this, Draco," she murmured. "I'm not some fragile thing. I've given birth to three children, remember?"

"Then why are you so damned-"

"Did you ever stop to think you're ridiculously well-endowed?" she said in a chilly voice, even as she rocked her hips against his again, causing him to bite his lips. She grinned and drew him back down to her, letting him bury his face in her neck. "I want you to stop feeling guilty," she whispered. "I don't. Not anymore."

"I know," he answered. "How could I not know? You're a bloody minx-"

"Talk like that will get you everywhere," she replied, hooking her legs up about his hips again. "Now will you just shut up and fuck me like you mean it, for once? Like you wanted to in that broom cupboard?"

He groaned and brought his lips to her breasts, eliciting several long, drawn out sighs and moans as he continued to make love to his wife; and the slide of their bodies against one another, the feel of her fingers in his hair and his lips on her heated skin brought them to their mutual climax- a shattering of all walls as lights met their eyes and their bodies collapsed back to the ground, shaking against one another for what felt like a miniature eternity.

Draco never left her afterwards- he always waited to get up until she suggested it, or pushed him away with laughter on her lips.

"Why do you do that?" she asked him now, amidst boxes and discarded clothes and cleaning supplies (the similarities between the flat and the broom cupboard did not escape either of their notice).

He gazed down at her, a lazy smile on his lips.

"I promised Harry I'd never let you go again, once I had you in my arms."

Hermione promptly burst into tears and Draco spent the next fifteen minutes comforting her, only for it to culminate in another heated bout of love-making, followed by more tears.

Draco was fairly certain he'd never been so happy in his life and he only hoped fervently, as he held his wife and rocked her in his arms, that Pansy, and Harry, and even Ron, were as happy wherever they were. All those forgotten things had been remembered, after all, and become forgiven things; and he was sure that of all the people they'd each known and loved, he and Hermione had overcome more to be together than would be forgotten for a long, long time.

To commemorate the occasion, six months later Hermione announced she was pregnant once again.

They named her Siria Lucia, a baby girl with white blond curls and brown eyes. And the love they'd built from the pieces of their once-broken lives continued to grow, and grow, and grow.


	69. An End and A Beginning

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise, all characters and plots belong to J.K. Rowling, and I make no money off this fiction.**

**AN: Counting _Ethics_, this story contains over 300k words!It has been a long two years, folks, but I couldn't have come this far without you all- my dedicated and patient readership. I love these characters so much and I hope that with this epilogue- though it may not have ended how you wanted it to- you will find the closure I have in completing this fic. This epilogue has been sitting in my head for over a year and to have finally reached it is an incredible feeling. I hope everyone's loves and imaginations continue to grow, and grow, and grow, just as Hermione and Draco have. All my love to you _all_ and best wishes for a fruitful and happy holiday. Happy Christmas and a very pleasant, promising, and safe New Year.**

* * *

_What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us._

_-Helen Keller_

* * *

Barclay eyed his best friends from across the room as Ronald danced about the parlor with Viola in his arms. The two had been an item since their fifth year and now they were just waiting for Viola to finish her seventh year for them to get married.

Barclay knew he should be happy about it. He _was_ happy about it. He just wished he'd seen it coming. It had been two years since they'd started dating and he still felt the same twinge of…something, jealousy, maybe, every time he saw her smiling up at him. A small person landed on the sofa beside him and he glanced down at the bouncing head of blond curls with a smile on his face.

"What's up, Lucy?"

Siria Lucia gazed up at her oldest brother adoringly. "Mummy said you had to be my date to the Yule Ball this year if Jamie wouldn't go with me."

Barclay laughed. "Did she? Did Mum think to check my calendar first?"

"Mum did," came a voice from behind him and he looked over his shoulder to see Hermione standing there- his mother since he was six- gazing in the direction he'd just been looking a moment before.

"They're quite a handsome couple, aren't they?" she murmured and Barclay glanced back at Vi and Ron. He grunted and felt Lucy climb into his lap. He unceremoniously pushed the petite witch back onto the sofa seat. She giggled wildly and he looked down at her again. For a twelve year old, she still acted like she was nine. It was endearing some of the time. Hermione insisted she took after his father, but Barclay wasn't sure. He stood up and gave his mother a peck on the cheek while she gazed at him as adoringly as Lucy just had.

"You're so like your father- I just can't get over it," Hermione murmured, giving him a return kiss and hugging him tightly. "I'm so glad you decided to stay with us another year. I just don't think I'm ready to lose any of my babies yet."

Barclay stifled a snort and looked to Vi again. "You're going to have to prepare yourself," he warned. "I'm pretty sure they're planning on eloping the minute graduation is over."

"They wouldn't!" Hermione looked so scandalized that Barclay had to laugh.

"Be prepared," he said sternly anyway, then grinned easily. "Just kidding."

"Why- if you weren't just like your father-"

"I know, I know, I'd be a Weasley!" Barclay called over his shoulder as he made his escape from the increasingly over crowded parlor as James passed him. He passed his aunt and grandmother as well, on the stairs up to his room and they both looked at one another knowingly before sending him on his way with a smile and hug, each.

By the time he got to his room he was in a foul mood.

Draco nodded to him just as he slammed his door shut and the older man paused at the top of the stairs.

"Barclay?" he called. "Are you alright?"

"Find, Dad!" came the answer and Draco frowned, but went ahead downstairs anyway. When he met his wife in the hallway, he told her what had happened.

"I was afraid of this," she said and Draco glanced at her sharply.

"Of what?"

Hermione rolled her eyes- Barclay had picked it up from her, not his father- and smiled tiredly.

"Your son is in love with my daughter."

"What?"

"I suspect he always has been," Hermione continued. "But Viola grew out of it, poor thing. She just wanted an older brother- someone to protect her. And now she's with Ronald and Barclay doesn't know what to do about his best friends being in love with one another." She looked thoughtful. "He's being the bigger man about it, though. He's much more well behaved than Ronald would be, if their positions were reversed."

It took Draco a minute to realize that when she said "poor thing" she meant his son. He looked back up the stairs thoughtfully.

"I can't believe I never noticed."

"Neither can I," Hermione admitted. "He's been mooning about the exact same way you did with me."

"Please, give me a bit of a break? I have been busy helping to raise seven children."

Their second set of twins had rather been a surprise, late in life. Those precocious children- Cynthia and Orion- were now five years old. Hermione smiled up at Draco indulgently.

"I know. And you've done a wonderful job and there's nothing either of us could have done to have prevented this situation, except maybe not have gotten married."

Draco looked at her in sudden horror and she laughed again. "Darling, I'm only joking."

"And you tease Barclay about being a Weasley, woman," he murmured against her lips.

* * *

Up above them, sitting on his bed, glowering, Barclay sat flicking his wand in his wrists idly. He began ticking off all the things that made him a good catch- wealthy parents, good job (Gringotts was downright prestigious, these days), good looks- why, there was no reason why he wouldn't be able to make a woman fall in love with him, was there?

Except he was already in bloody love and had no desire to snag some other witch. If love was what it was…he still wasn't sure. He'd been so focused on Viola his whole life that he'd never even stopped to consider someone else. A timid knock on his door brought him out of his ill humor and he lifted his head.

"Come in," he called before thinking. He wiped hastily at his not-too-damp cheeks and put his wand on his night stand. A head of straight brown hair poked around his door and soft brown eyes regarded him seriously. "Hero," he said, surprised. "What's up?"

"What's up with you?" she retorted, though her voice barely rose above a murmur. She was the most soft-spoken in the house. Barclay had always wondered who'd she'd taken after, because it seemed that everyone who surrounded them was loud and opinionated and obnoxious, but not little Hero- Gaby to some of her school chums. He smiled weakly at her.

"Is it that obvious?" he asked and she took his reply as permission to come in. She settled herself quietly on the bed next to him.

"I dated Freddy all last year," she said suddenly and Barclay looked down at her in surprise.

"Freddy Longbottom? But isn't he awfully-" Old, he was going to say, but stopped short. The bloke- one of Aunt Ginny's twins- was a quidditch player and only two years older than Hero. He didn't suppose she would appreciate him making those remarks.

She glared at him. "I'm fourteen, you know," she pointed out. "I'm hardly a child anymore. Anyway, I know what broken hearted looks like when I see it."

"Why?" Barclay said sharply. "Did he break up with you? Hurt you? You should have told me, I'd have set him straight-"

"I broke up with him," she replied quietly, stopping him short. "And he was rather bent out of shape about it." She scuffed her shoe against the floor and Barclay stared ahead of himself, suddenly feeling like he wasn't sure he knew this sister- the little woman sitting beside him.

"You broke up with-"

"Him, yes." She pressed her lips together. "I'm in love with someone else, you see. And that's how I know what broken hearted feels like. Freddy just taught me what it looks like."

Barclay looked down at her, a wry smile on his face. "So who's the dumb bloke you need me to beat up?"

She laughed and the silvery sound filled his room. He blinked down at her stupidly as she tossed her sleek, straight hair over her shoulder, then stood up.

"Oh, he's beating himself up pretty well already over something else. Look, I really wanted to ask you if you'd come to the Yule Ball with me this year."

"Can't," Barclay replied, his mouth suddenly dry. Her face fell and he felt his heart speed up a little in his chest. "Mum promised Lucy I'd go with her if she couldn't get Jamie to agree to take her."

Hero smiled brilliantly. "Oh, that's alright. Lucy has about ten dates lined up. She just thinks you'll match her dress better. So, you'll take me?"

"I- it would be an honor, Hero," he finally murmured and she leaned over, gave him a peck on his cheek- just at the corner of his mouth.

_She's not my sister, she's not my sister, she's not my sister_, a voice in his head began to chant and his brow furrowed in confusion.

"As long as you don't mind that I'll be the oldest date there, besides Ronald," he added before she disappeared around his door again.

She gave him a searching glance, then smiled again.

"Barclay," she said, and her tone of voice seemed to imply that he was a silly, silly man, "I haven't minded about that in a long time."

Barclay watched her go, then stood up a moment later, himself and followed her out of his room and back down the stairs to rejoin his family. There was something he needed to see about doing…giving congratulations to his best friends on their engagement, for one.

Seeing whether the jealousy was real or imagined, for another.

And making sure that when their Longbottom cousins arrived for the Christmas dinner that Freddy sat no where near Hero, to finish.

Hermione and Draco watched all these proceedings with increasing relief and reveled in the restored happiness of their crowded, but loving town home.

* * *

**I am a part of all that I have met.**

**-Tennyson**


End file.
